


The Lannister Inheritance

by Cerdic519



Series: A Saga Of Immodesty And Frankness [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, AUSTEN Jane - Works, Game of Thrones (TV), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Brome - Freeform, Coronation, Embarrassment, England (Country), F/M, Family, Happy Ending, Harnesses, London, Love, M/M, Marriage, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Napoleonic Wars, Panties, Period Typical Attitudes, Pregnancy, Restraints, Romance, Teasing, Thongs - Freeform, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: In nineteenth century England the life of Mr. Jaime Lannister, master of Pemberley and nephew to the Earl of Hexhamshire, continues on its way with him happily married, the alpha male in charge of everything and..... his mate Bronn is giving him that look again, is he not? Lord help him and his soon to be broken body!





	1. Be Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SouthronWildling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthronWildling/gifts).



**September 1808**

I would like to point out that I was not sleeping, nor was I totally exhausted from what still seemed like half a lifetime of non-stop sex. Ye Gods, Bronn only had to give me that look as if I was the meanest alpha ever to be mean to some poor defenceless omega – ha, right! - and I was compelled to do my duty. _Time and again!_

King James was currently not on speaking terms with me, and I had placed a double order for more of that cooling unguent from London. Never mind my mate; _I_ was not going to survive this pregnancy!

Bronn's brother Edmund, who was also expecting, had come over from Lynton. I strongly suspected the villain of smirking as I momentarily rested my eyes while lying on the couch, but I was too exhausted to care.

“I feel like a whale!” Edmund sighed as he sat down. I heard my mate chuckle.

“Eddie, we are both barely showing”, he said soothingly. “Do you have a due date?”

“Like you some time in the middle of March”, Edmund said. “We were both fortunate to have the traditional wedding heat, really. You know how it is with us omegas.”

I certainly did! Or at least some parts of me did. I snuggled into my cushion and willed the aches throughout my poor broken body to subside. And for the smirk that I just knew was on my mate's face to vanish. _And for Hell to freeze over!_

“We are the weaker sub-gender”, agreed someone who was being more than a little elastic with the truth. “Poor Jaime has to be very careful with me now.”

I narrowly managed not to snort at that. _Careful?_ Ever since his telling me he was pregnant at the start of the previous month he had wanted what had seemed like non-stop sex. Yes I was an alpha and all that, but even a supreme specimen like me needed an occasional rest. From both a pregnant sex-maniac of a mate and from staff who would have smirked their way out of employment had not someone forbidden me to......

No I was _not_ whipped! Shut up!

“You look a little worried”, my mate observed. “Is everything all right?”

His brother sighed.

“Arthur had to sack one of the footmen last week”, Edmund said. “You know how some alphas and betas don’t like taking orders from an omega, even when it is the master’s mate. He overheard Hoffman boasting about how he only did anything I asked very slowly and badly. For all he is so gentle my beloved has a temper on him when roused; he summoned the rest of the staff and told them that anyone else who felt the same could leave with a month's pay.”

“Did anyone?” Bronn asked.

“No”, his brother said. “Hoffman had been in charge of Arthur’s hunting-lodge in Inverness-shire until he sold it off recently, and the only vacancy available at the time was for a footman here. I persuaded him to give the fellow's wife two weeks' pay but I cannot say that I will miss him, especially as Arthur has been even more protective ever since.”

“Jaime is just as bad!” Bronn smiled. “When I go out riding he suggested putting railings along the side of the carriage for extra protection. I take the stairs carefully just to keep him happy.”

I managed not to snigger at that. Yesterday Bronn had had one of his 'I look horrible pregnant' moments and I had carried him upstairs impaled on King James and spent two hours making love to him. And I had very generously let him fuck me afterwards. Which reminded me; those rumours about our housekeeper running a book on my sometimes less than perfectly together state had better damn well not be true or.... I would be displeased!

“Arthur wants the staff to mount a permanent guard when he’s not here”, Edmund sighed. “It is all very well but I just want to have…..”

“Eddie!” 

“I was only going to say ‘some time to ourselves’”, our visitor said in what was obviously mock offence. “Although I suspect that the poor boy was pleased I came over today as it allowed him to have a rest. Because as we all know, alphas _never_ nap!”

I scowled in my well-earned repose. Apparently sass ran in the family!

“Are either of you hoping for anything in particular?” Bronn asked.

In the pregnancy book that my mate had definitely not forced me to read I had learned that pregnant omegas responded poorly to pressure, particularly the traditional expectation that an alpha's first-born should always be an alpha. Arthur (who had similarly not been compelled to read the same book) and I had agreed that we would love whatever son or daughter we had, although I knew that statistics were that a son from an alpha-omega relationship was over ninety per cent likely and an alpha more than seventy-five per cent. There was also the worry that more than one great estate had been reduced to ruin by the legal fees as younger alphas tried to assert their claims over older betas or omegas. The law was most regrettably unclear over such matters.

“He says that he does not mind”, Edmund said, “but I would wager that like someone who is definitely not napping over there, he too hopes for an alpha. I do not mind what it is, provided they are healthy.”

That I knew was another dangerous subject. Despite the improvements in midwifery the century before, childbirth was still a dangerous time, more so for omegas than women. 

“I think that we are both going to have alphas”, my beloved said.

“Why?” his brother asked.

“Because that was what Mrs. Peters wagered on in the staff pool”, he said with a smile, “and she is rarely wrong!”

They both laughed. I had the worst staff in all Derbyshire!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**January 1809**

I hated my life!

The winter sunlight shone weakly through the sitting-room windows at Pemberley, as if it wasn’t really sure it was worth the effort. Somehow I limped into the room and made it to the couch. My cousin Edwy, who really could have timed his visit better, was edging perilously close to a smirk. 

“You look awful!” he said unhelpfully. “Is something wrong?”

“Bronn”, I sighed, running my hand through my overlong hair. “The book said that pregnant omegas would only want sex for one month during pregnancy, six weeks at the most. It has been nearly three since he told me; I am not going to survive to see my first-born son!”

The bastard chuckled.

“You say that like sex is a bad thing”, he teased. “I wish I had a sex-starved omega waiting to warm my bed for me at night.”

“Never mind warming the bed, he will not let me sleep!” I groused. “He wants sex all the damned time, Edwy! I am shattered! And the staff keep sniggering at me as I stagger around looking like someone raised me from the dead!”

I sank down heavily onto the couch, which turned out to be a mistake as I uttered a sharp yelp of pain. My cousin raised an eyebrow, then most definitely smirked.

“Do not say it!” I said testily. “Honestly, I thought my first rut was bad, but it was nothing compared to this!”

A cousin whom I no longer liked at all failed to bite back a laugh.

“So what news from London?” I inquired. “Your brothers are all right, I hope?”

The captain’s four elder brothers were all in the military, although his eldest brother the viscount had a post in name only being heir to the sizeable Hexhamshire estate. Edwy frowned.

“Not so good”, he said. “Edgar and Ethelwulf have been sent to Portugal to fight against Boney's forces there. We may not yet be able to build another coalition against the villain but we are stretching him. Edward at least is all right; he is on the Duke of York¹'s staff now and says that he expects the Russians, for all they are supposed to be at war with us, are just biding their time. Once their truce expires he thinks they will attack the French.”

“Is that likely?” I asked, surprised.

“I think so”, he said. “Like all tyrants Boney needs to keep winning or people will start to question him. He can hold down most of Spain but not Portugal as well. It will likely take years but the financial power of Great Britain will destroy him in the end.”

I nodded, then winced at the sharp burst of pain even that simple movement caused. He looked at me cautiously.

“I can see that you are not doing overly well”, he said, ignoring the dark look I gave him, “but how is Bronn doing?”

I smiled at the mention of my mate. I opened his mouth to reply but at that moment Skelton came over and muttered something to me. I went pale.

“What, at this time of day?”

“I will read a book from your library”, Edwy laughed. “I can talk to what is left of you later!”

I stood and hobbled slowly away. I was sure that there was a snort of laughter just after I had closed the door. Family!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**February 1808**

At the start of the year I had moved us into one of the downstairs bedrooms for the remainder of the Pregnancy From Hell. Although the new bedroom was considerably smaller than our own it was more than adequate as it too had its own flush toilet next door. And mercifully Bronn had stopped demanding my ‘attentions’ on a far too frequent basis, because to what I had once stupidly thought, it was possible to have too much of a good thing!

It was also possible that my mate knew me too well. When I brought him breakfast in bed that St. Valentine's Day, he was on to me at once.

“What is it?” he demanded. “What have you done now?”

I blushed horribly. He knew me too well by now, in every sense!

“There is news from Lynton”, I said quietly. “Your brother gave birth yesterday, some four weeks ahead of his time.”

His blue eyes widened in alarm. Even allowing for the wide variation in omega births – births several weeks early or late were not unknown – that was pushing it. I held his hand while he calmed down.

“All is well”, I assured him. “Edmund is fine and it is a healthy alpha so Arthur said. His writing is even worse, by the way.”

“The boy is well?” Bronn pressed.

“Eight pounds he said”, I assured him.

He smiled lovingly at me. He was happy and that was all that..... oh no, please!

“I think we should...... celebrate”, he said, smiling darkly.

King James was clearly up for it, even if most of my other body parts were screaming at me to make a run for it. Or to beg for mercy. 

“Really?” I said in a voice that was at least an octave too high.

He nodded.

“With this delicious breakfast”, he said.

I did not sigh with relief. Well, not exactly. 

“Which”, he went on, most unfairly using The Voice on me without warning, “I see comes with a most delicious dessert!”

Lord have mercy!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The Lord did not! Again!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Our visit to see my new nephew was delayed because Bronn had an attack of nausea, and I very pointedly did not sigh with relief at the break it gave me from his demands, which were finally - _finally!_ tailing off with less than a month to go now. It was therefore the end of the month before we made it over to Lynton.

“He is so handsome”, Bronn smiled, looking down at the alpha in his arms. “He seems mighty, even for an alpha.”

I was, I admit, a little jealous although being an alpha I knew better than to ask to touch the baby myself, as I knew from my book that it would have made Arthur uneasy. The new Master Dayne had fair hair and Edmund's hazel eyes. 

“The midwife reckons he will be as tall as me one day”, Arthur said proudly. 

“But hopefully more collected”, I said with a smile. “Remember that time you took dancing lessons?”

“I still think you placed that mop there”, he said. 

_“And_ the bucket?” I shot back. He blushed.

“Cut it out, you two”, Edmund scolded. “We have chosen a name and the christening is in a week’s time.”

“What is it?” Bronn asked.

“Lancelot”, Arthur said proudly. “A noble name for such a handsome alpha.” 

I wondered at that moment what sort of name Bronn would want for our child. It was not something we had really discussed partly for fears of putting a jinx on things, but we would have to start thinking soon. In the meantime we both crooned over young Lancelot.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The carriage ride back to Pemberley was slow, on my orders because even on the more than passable road I did not wish to see my pregnant mate get jerked at all, Once dinner was served and the servants had withdrawn, I spoke. 

“You were rather quiet when Edmund mentioned about the boy’s name”, I ventured carefully. “Have you been thinking about names for our child when it is born?” 

He reddened for some reason.

“I did have one idea for a boy”, he said carefully. 

I tried not to panic, because I knew I was going to say yes to whatever he asked. Just how bad was it?

“Go on”, I said warily.

“Martin”, he said. “The saint who our local church back in Longbourn was named for; I found great peace there at times of trouble. But you are the alpha, my love, and....”

I placed a finger to his lips and silenced him.

“It sounds a wonderful name”, I said. “Martin Lannister.”

He looked at me in surprise and I smiled at him. At most two months to go……

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: Frederick, Duke of York and Albany (b. 1763). King George III's second son, rather unfairly remembered by history as 'The Grand Old Duke Of York' from his brief career as an actual soldier. By this time the government had sidelined him with a role in reforming the Army which, to the surprise of just about everyone, he was doing rather well in. Two months later (March 1809) he felt compelled to resign when his mistress Mary Anne Clarke was accused of selling commissions in the Army, despite his exoneration in the House of Lords. He would become heir to the throne on his elder brother George IV's accession in 1820 but would die in 1827, once again denying the country a King Frederick._


	2. The Mating Game

**March 1809**

“It will all come right in the end.”

Mrs. Peters flounced across the room on her daily walk round to inspect her maids’ work. I had been telling my beloved about the campaign down in Iberia – mostly bad, worse luck – and not at all watching him anxiously as he was now five days past his due date (the book I had not been forced to read had said it could be up to fourteen). He looked enormous, although I valued certain body parts sufficiently not to voice that thought.

“You seem very sure of that, Mrs. Peters”, I said courteously. I knew the woman worked wonders to keep a place as huge as Pemberley going, let alone making it a fit place to raise a family. And I doubted that the green- and blue-painted room at the back of the house would have been ready for the future Martin Lannister had she not taken charge of matters.

“Boney is overstretched”, the housekeeper said, “and his enemies will just keep on at him until he is defeated. His only hope was to invade us and the Royal Navy will keep us safe from that.”

Bronn coughed. I patted him absently on his flyaway hair as we both soaked in the warmth of a blazing fire on a cold late winter’s day. My poor mate looked fit to burst.

“I know the likes of the Little General”, Mrs. Peters said bitterly. “Though I dare say you and the laird have more important things to attend to right now.”

“Indeed we do!” Bronn said with a gasp. “Jaime, it is coming!”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Though I was not superstitious I had hoped for a March birth rather than a February one, as like the Romans I had always felt the second month unlucky¹. So I had been quietly pleased when St. David’s Day had heralded the third month, though I had been very careful not to voice that pleasure. My beloved was increasingly uncomfortable with all the extra mass in his body, and was also very emotional. 

However, as the days had ticked by without any sign that our first-born wanted to grace the world with its presence, I had become more and more anxious. The baby seemed determine to stay inside of my mate for as long as possible and while I could understand that, I wanted to see an end to Bronn’s sufferings. So the interruption to our conversation twelve days into the month came as a blessed relief.

What followed however was tortuous. Mrs. Peters, who had attended some births in her time, advised that we send for the midwife with all haste as the new Lannister seemed to be making a determined break for freedom. Fortunately the midwife lived in Lambton and she was brought to the house in barely an hour (I made a mental note to tip Skelton, who had fetched her so swiftly). And then things moved fast. 

I had if truth be told never been good with the sight of blood, and I would much rather have waited out the whole ghastly experience until it was all over. But Bronn looked so terrified at what was happening that I rapidly shoved all such thoughts aside, and sat there holding my mate's hand. Right up to the moment of birth, when the midwife told the omega to push and he not only let out a string of swear words that surprised even me but grabbed my hand so hard that he came close to breaking it. My eyes watered but I kissed my mate and uttered praises at how well he was doing…..

And then we both heard it. Two new-born lungs at full volume, announcing that our first-born had finally arrived. I waited anxiously as the midwife did what she had to do (mercifully Bronn’s shuddering body hid me from the worst of it), until she held up a surprisingly large baby.

“An alpha”, she said with a smile. “Fair hair, and I doubt it will darken much from that shade. And he has his father’s eyes.”

She quickly wiped the child down and handed him to Bronn, whom I had helped up on the bed. The omega looked down at the new life that he and I had created, and managed something between a sob and a smile.

“Hullo, Martin”, he whispered. “I hope you will be more punctual in life than you have been so far. You are almost as bad as your father!”

I smiled and tickled our son’s chest. The baby gurgled and looked straight at me through eyes that, if anything, were bluer than either my own or his papa's.

“Hold him, Jaime”, Bronn urged. “He is your son too.”

I gently took our son and snuggled him into the crook of my arm. He was almost as large as Lancelot had been when we had visited Lynton, and I wondered if he would grow up to tower over both of us. But that was all for the far, distant future. Right here, right now, I could not have been happier.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**May 1809**

Fiddes School was one of the top educational establishments in London, and not even the best connections would guarantee your son a place there. Though of course, they helped.

The headmaster, an elderly alpha called Mr. Francis Unsworth who for some strange reason considered hair perfume appropriate for someone in his position, smiled benevolently at me. That would not last, I thought.

“Mr. Lannister, this is an honour”, he beamed. “And belated congratulations on your new son.”

“Thank you”, I said politely, taking a seat. “I am sorry to say that my business here today, though short, is not pleasant.”

His smile slipped somewhat.

“Oh?” he said.

“Indeed”, I said. “An acquaintance of mine, a lady called Mrs. Greyjoy, has her son here. Theon.”

“Mr. Holt’s class”, the headmaster said immediately. “Is there a problem?”

“There are two”, I said. “First, Mr. Holt has been bullying him and even threatened to have him expelled if he dared to complain.”

The headmaster’s expression was guarded.

“Of course I will launch a full investigation into such claims”, he said carefully.

I shook my head.

“That is the second thing”, I said, thinking with a smile of the wonderful Sandy. “I have some rather interesting contacts in London’s fair city, sir. And one of them has been looking into your Mr. Holt. It seems that is teaching qualification is – how shall I put it – questionable?”

“How so?” the headmaster asked.

“The American college at which he claims to have studied does not, in fact, exist”, I said bluntly. “Which means, of course, that the fellow is a fraud. Now I could and quite probably should go to the newspapers with this story” – I smiled inwardly at the look of terror that that elicited from the headmaster’s face – “but for young Theon's sake I wish for as little disruption to his education as possible.”

I stared pointedly at the fellow.

“Indeed”, he rallied. “I am sure that Mr. Holt will be leaving us quite soon, as it happens. Most likely even today. Possibly before dinner. Um, your inquiries did not extend to any other teachers at this establishment, I suppose?”

I smiled knowingly. He was visibly sweating now.

“I believe that, unless they affect me in some was as Mr. Holt’s has, a man’s personal peccadilloes are his own affair”, I said evenly. “But given the nature of what has been occurring here, perhaps I might incline to pressure the governors to institute a full examination of the school's books.”

Somehow he turned paler. As well he might; he knew as well as I did that he would be making some frantic cash transfers back into the school accounts very soon. Perhaps even sooner than Mr. Holt's imminent departure.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**July 1809**

Of course I was pleased. Even if I could not but help feeling just a little bit jealous.

“What can I say?” Edmund grinned as the four of us sat in the sitting-room at Pemberley. “Arthur here is a most virile alpha. He is determined to secure the line, and I am equally determined to help him.”

“Too much information, Eddie!” my mate said, smiling slightly. “But I am happy for you.”

“It will be your turn as well, soon”, Edmund said knowingly. “I can smell you coming into heat, Bronn.”

The maid bringing their tea coughed and turned red, and my beloved swatted at his brother who grinned unrepentantly.

“The due date is New Year’s Eve”, Edmund went on, “so we may have extra cause to welcome in eighteen hundred and ten. And sex while pregnant….”

The maid actually ran from the room. Bronn scowled at his brother.

“You will go after Mary and apologize!” he snapped.

“But Bronn….”

 _“Now_ Eddie! I mean it!”

Edmund scowled but did as he was told. See? It was not just me who was totally whi.....

Damnation!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

I was working on one of the outlying farms a few days later, having left Bronn a schedule so he could send a footman for me when.... well, when. So the arrival of Skelton – who very creditably had brought Ajax over and did not smirk as he told me that my mate required my attention 'some time soon' – was most welcome, and I rode back to the house at a gallop before sprinting up the stairs to our room. At last!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**October 1809**

I woke feeling unusually tired, and slowly realized that it was still dark outside. Even the dawn chorus had not started yet, with the birds doing whatever the blazes they did in the mornings. Besides being too damn noisy.

Then I realized what was amiss. The bed was still warm but definitely minus one omega, and there was the sound of someone throwing up through the open door of one of the connected lavatories that I had had built next to all the major bedrooms. My eyes lit up as I sprinted across the room.

Bronn was sat on the floor draped round the brand-new flush toilet (Pemberley had the first to be installed in all Derbyshire, the builder had said), and looking a deathly shade of green. I stared at my mate in a mixture of hope and pity, and he looked me in the eye and nodded….

Martin was not going to be an only child for much longer.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**December 1809**

It was New Year's Eve and we were over at Lynton. Edmund sat, or more accurately fell, into a heavily cushioned couch.

“I think I am birthing a cricket team here”, he grumbled. “It had better be at least twins, because getting one this size out is going to end me!”

I winced at his words, especially because I saw how pale my own beloved was at them. He very quickly sought to change the subject.

“I see the Spanish have lost another battle² against the French”, Bronn observed. “They still think they can defeat them in the field.”

“Some of them seem to be belatedly getting the message”, Arthur said, eyeing his mate cautiously. “Eddie, will you still be wanting to stay up to see the new year in?”

“With Daynes Two through whatever poised to arrive any minute?” Edmund yawned. “Sorry, love, but I am exhausted. I think I will turn in early.”

He rolled himself upright and yawned again. Then he looked down in puzzlement.

“Oh”, he said softly.

“What?” Arthur and Bronn said together.

“I think my waters just broke.”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**January 1810**

The New Year celebrations at Lynton Grange were put on hold that year, as Edmund’s labour pains stared in the middle of the last day of the old year, and proceeded to last all the way through the first day of the new one, and into the small hours of the second. I cancelled all my work and had to insist that my beloved take rest breaks. Arthur too I finally persuaded to catch some sleep in the small hours of the second, only to me to have to waken him at four of the morning.

He was a father again. To twin beta sons, Balin and Balan Dayne.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: The original Roman calendar ignored the winter months, running from March to December (this is why the last four months had Latin names reflecting the numbers seven through ten). February was a later addition, and after the creation of the Julian Calendar by Julius Caesar had thirty days with thirty-one in a leap-year. But the decision to rename Quintilis after him and Sextilis after his successor Augustus led to February losing a day to each of them, as the now second month ended in an unpopular religious festival that was as a result shortened._  
 _2: The Battle of Alma de Torres near the city of Salamanca, actually fought late the previous month. Superior discipline meant that the French won despite being outnumbered two to one, but soon after the Spanish fell back on targeting French supply lines instead, using what they called 'Little War' (Spanish:_ guerrilla) _tactics._


	3. The Ties That Bind

**February 1810**

I sighed as I read the _'Times'_ then looked across at my mate and son. _My_ son. I allowed myself a manly sniff as Martin clearly puzzled over whether to eat his breakfast, wear it or risk throwing it at his nurse-maid and earn himself another Disapproving Look from his papa, while said omega was looking mournfully over at the kettle.

“Still cannot face it?” I said sympathetically. He shook his head.

“This child is _not_ going to like coffee”, he said firmly. “And he is making sure that I do not like it until he is ready to make his appearance. What is in the newspaper that you do not like?”

“These reports on the king's health”, I said.

“I thought that he was improving?” my mate said.

“I rather fear that he is not”, I said. “And that means even more instability, let alone that Perceval's government is about as solid as a blancmange! Not forgetting Prinny, worse luck.”

“The Prince of Whales with an 'h'”, Bronn agreed. “A pity he does not take up sea-bathing like his father; a passing whaler might harpoon him in error! I hope this war will be over before our dear boy over there is old enough to want to take part.”

I hoped so too, with all my heart.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**March 1810**

Lord, but I was so damn stupid at times!

I had thought that with my beloved safely past his Hump – mercifully that pregnancy book had been correct and it had not been as bad as the first one, although I had still needed copious amounts of unguent for some days before I could walk afterwards – my beloved would not want much in the way of sex for the remainder of his pregnancy. I had of course forgotten that while my taking him was problematic, he still gained great pleasure from working out his frustrations on me (“it is good for the baby when I am happy”). And when Carlton had caught me examining the soft ropes that Bronn had ordered up from London, the bastard had fled the room laughing! I would have sacked him but Bronn would likely have refused to have sex with me. Or worse, would have insisted on having sex with me until I finally broke!

This explains why, this particular late winter's day, I was trussed up more thoroughly than a Christmas goose. And worse, rather than let me have the release that King James was begging for – seriously, I could have played billiards with the thing – my cruel, horrible, sadistic mate had uttered those terrible words that showed me far, far too late just why he had done this:

“We need to talk.”

I would have glared at him, but even moving my head was difficult. He had agreed that I only had to ask and he would untie me, but I sort of rather liked being at my omega's mercy.

All right, I loved it! Besides, Arthur had ordered a set too!

“What about?” I asked warily.

“When were you going to tell me about Master Theon Greyjoy?”

I spluttered in shock. Of all the things he could have come out with, that had not even been on the list.

“Who told you?” I asked.

“You had a letter from a Mr. Alexander Clegane”, he said. “That was one of the two things in it.”

I pouted my displeasure. True, I had said that he could read my mail but.... oh Lord, why was Sandy writing to me up here? He had said that he would only do that in an emergency.

“What was the other thing?” I asked urgently.

He ran a teasing hand down my chest and tweaked my nipples each in turn, making me moan in pleasure. It was damnably unfair of him to distract me like that, no matter how good it felt. My head ached with most of my blood being triaged off to my lower brain.

“He mentioned a certain cousin of yours”, my mate said eventually. “The Wicked Witch Of The North.”

I blinked in surprise, my agonies momentarily forgotten. Desperate to avoid Kersey wrecking either my or Arthur's marriages (and debarred from inviting her up here and 'accidentally' shooting her as she came up the driveway; some omegas had no sense of fun!), I had paid for her to go off on a Continental Tour under a company owned by my former lover Aliana's husband. And yes, I admit that had been tempted to send her to Iberia or even Siberia...... oh no!

Bronn nodded slowly, knowing that I had gotten it. 

“You could have told me”, he said reproachfully.

“How does one tell the man one loves more than life itself about one's past misdemeanours?” I asked. “I behaved so badly when I was a teenager, I am ashamed to look back on it. Theon was the result of my affair with Aliana, and Sandy – Mr. Clegane – told me about her while I was in London after leaving Hertfordshire. But why is he writing to me now?”

My mate took a deep breath.

“Mrs. Greyjoy's husband's brother¹, a beta called Euron who runs the tours”, he said. “She wanted to marry him and pressed her suit so hard that he abandoned her in the middle of the Continent. Mr. Clegane has arranged for her to get back to England, and she _demands_ that she be allowed to come here to Pemberley. To live!”

“Over my dead body!” I snorted. 

“I could always write back and say yes”, my teasing mate smiled. “I hardly think that you are in a position to stop me, my love.”

I opened my mouth to object, but then he suddenly grabbed and started working away at a rock-hard King James, and all coherent thought abandoned me. Not that I missed it.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Thankfully my beloved was as keen as I was to keep The Wicked Witch away from our home (and from Arthur's; the poor fellow was mortified when I broke the news to him although I laughed when Edmund immediately told him he too was not allowed to get his gun out!), and I agreed to set her up in a small establishment in London where hopefully she might attach herself to some other suck...... gentleman. I and those I loved had suffered our turn, after all.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**April 1810**

On the twenty-second we had a visit from our friends Harry and Gendry. My respect for the former increased considerably when he declined to come into the house as he knew a strange alpha near a heavily pregnant omega was not a good idea, so he waited in the Lodge. He did not have to wait long; only hours after their arrival (and yet again some days later than due) our second son made his appearance, a healthy omega. I may or may not have blubbered very slightly, and how my mate could do those judgemental silences in his condition I had no idea.

“He has your eyes, Bronn”, I said in wonderment, holding the tiny baby in my arms. “And his hair is jet black, which is I know unusual for a baby.”

“Like the milkman's”, teased an omega who should not have been able to have been so annoying in his condition. “I have an idea for his name which seems appropriate given his hair, although you may not like it.”

I was on my guard at once.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Broyn”, he said, much to my surprise. “It comes from a word meaning 'raven'. It was what my godfather Captain Trago was supposed to have been called, but the vicar at his christening misread the name and christened him Byron.”

I saw at once the reason for his wariness. Captain Trago whose vile son Arras..... yes. But I knew from the times Bronn had spoken of his godfather that he had valued the gentleman and had been deeply sorry for all that he had been put through.

“Broyn Lannister”, I said. “So be it.”

My mate lay back on the birthing-bed and sighed contentedly. I was also pleased that he had had an omega, as I knew from my pregnancy book that just as alphas like me craved alphas, omegas too wanted one of their own type to care for. Everything was working out fine.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**November 1810**

The visit of Harry and Gendry, which had been timed to be just after Broyn's birth, had also been to inform us that they too were expecting and on Guy Fawkes' Night they were blessed with an omega son Henry. It was happy events all round as Arthur was now three months away from adding to his growing brood and, best of all, my beloved Bronn was also expecting again!

I, stupidly, had boasted that this showed I still had it in me, and sure enough less than an hour later I did indeed have it in me. 'It' being The Bronnster!

Memo to self; when next buying furniture for Pemberley, opt for _heavily_ padded chairs!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**January 1811**

“Mrs. Peters says that we are definitely having another alpha”, Bronn said over the breakfast-table that morning.

I looked up from where I had been snatching a quick nap. How on earth had I thought getting my mate pregnant would be a good thing? I ached in places that no alpha should ever ache in, and even the cooling unguent (bless the makers of that product!) was only partially effective.

“You were smiling as you slept”, said an omega who was far too observant for my liking. “And like with Martin, The Hump is longer-lasting than usual. We had better start thinking of suitable names.....”

I did not hear the rest of his words as I had, or so someone later claimed, dozed off. All the time knowing that he was smirking across the table from me. Harrumph!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**February 1811**

“Beloved”, Bronn said at breakfast one morning, “may I ask you something?”

I may or may not have prayed fervently before answering. The other day my love had felt the urge right there at the breakfast table, and Carlton may or may not have had to help me to the study afterwards.

“Your mother is not coming, is she?” I fretted.

He chuckled at my horrified expression.

“I could always invite her if you wish”, the bastard said. “No, it is a friend of my cousin Denny, an alpha called Lieutenant Jason D'Argent. He has been dismissed from court and Denny asks if we can secure him a position on our estate. He has always wished to become a blacksmith, apparently.”

I was surprised at that, or at least the change of job. Not so much that the new Regent (George the Third's recurrent mental incapacity having finally been deemed permanent) did not get on with someone. That was sadly the fellow's nature; the newspapers had noted several departures from Court in recent days.

“A former soldier wants to be a smith?” I asked. 

“You know how it is with some betas in positions of power; they cannot cope with alphas around”, my mate said. “I was hoping that you would welcome this gentleman here while we found something for him in the area. He comes from the county, Swadlincote in the south and is with his family there just now, but they are going to the Americas come March.”

I was myself unhappy about having another alpha on the estate, let alone with my mate pregnant, but Bronn was looking at me in a way that said my choices in this were down to one if I wanted to live. I smiled a false smile.

“He is a friend of the family”, I said, “and is welcome here.”

He looked at me far too knowingly.

“You mean after I give birth”, he said shrewdly.

As I said, he knew me far too well. In every sense!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

There was someone else in the damn bedroom!

I wondered briefly if Pemberley was on fire, which was one of the few reasons I allowed staff into our bedroom. At least it was Carlton; the one time Matthews had come into the room the beta had inadvertently sniffed at Bronn, only to find himself pinned against the wall by a somewhat annoyed me.

Yes, I had apologized to the fellow afterwards. And not _solely_ because some bossy omega had made me!

“Sorry to wake you so early, sir”, my valet called from the door (he was clearly taking no chances) “but the laird asked to be informed the moment that his brother went into labour.”

“Thank you, Carlton”, I said, yawning. “Please fetch Flinders so that we can both get dressed.”

He nodded and departed.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Getting the carriage ready to transport a five-months pregnant omega over in comfort took some time, and my beloved was champing at the bit when we finally set off. The ride through the slowly lightening skies was cold but mercifully short and we were soon pulling up at Lynton. However the newest Dayne had beaten us to it.

“Mark”, Arthur said, proudly holding a small beta. The new arrival had medium brown hair and very dark brown eyes that stared consideringly at the couple looking down on him before he yawned and went to sleep on them both.

“Just like his father”, Edmund teased, earning himself a soft nudge from his husband. 

“Four sons”, Arthur said quietly. “I am so proud of you, Eddie.”

The blond omega smiled weakly up at him, and yawned. Bronn led the way and took Mark so the new papa could get some much-needed rest.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩


	4. Large Matters

**February 1811**

I was possibly just very slightly bordering on nervous. Perhaps. My beloved Bronn still had four months until the birth, but like all alphas I was becoming more protective of him as the day neared. Hence I had not wanted him to have to undertake a journey back to Hertfordshire in his state. But there were reasons.

“Poor Uncle Raedwald”, my mate sighed as the coach bowled along a mercifully tolerable road. “But as they say, the Good Lord moves in mysterious ways.”

I had as I have mentioned before felt more disposed to Mr. Raedwald Mallister than most of my mate's frankly appalling family, partly because he was a decent fellow for a beta and partly because he was for his misfortunes married to Bronn's aunt, a harridan not far behind her sister in sheer awfulness. She and her husband had had an argument and she had flounced off to London where, despite her being in her late forties, she had decided to sample the sexual delights of the metropolis. She had caught something and had died in a fortnight, to the shock (and mortification) of just about everyone.

This sordid tale had reached us in one of Bronn's mother's horribly overlong letters (I had grumbled maybe just a little at having to pay for all this verbiage but Bronn had ‘persuaded’ me to accept it which was why I was still sitting down very carefully). Hence very much against my wishes we were back in the Chilterns. I quite liked travelling but I feared for my pregnant mate, even though he was not yet showing much. And after our overnight stop just outside Northampton I was maybe feeling not quite one hundred per cent.

“You look like that new locomotive¹ they say runs on rails”, teased some cruel omega. “All puffed out.”

I pulled him closer and re-wrapped the blanket over us both.

“Once we get back home”, I whispered, “I will show you just how ‘puffed out’ I am!”

“Promise?” he said hopefully.

Utterly insatiable, the horny rogue. Praise the Lord!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Because I truly loved my mate I had agreed that he might invite his mother to visit Pemberley in August so that she could see her grandchildren (mercifully they were still too young to realize just how much they had lost out on this particular one of life's lotteries). In return my mate had le..... had accepted that I had urgent business that same month (I most definitely would have) and could be away when she called. At least he would have the Imp to keep him company; Tyrion had been delighted to become an uncle to our growing brood.

One small upside of the horrible business was that it was pretty much only Bronn's mother I had to deal with. His brother Marcus was still at home but Oliver was away staying with friends in Wales somewhere, and even better, Robert and his useless husband had claimed that 'army business' prevented them from attending. I was still checking up on my former nemesis and knew that he actually might be speaking the truth for once; Old Thunderguts had indeed been making his new captain's life utter hell. Which was all well and good.

“Dearest Robert has promised to visit when he can”, Mrs. Blackwater told us. “He might even call at Pemberley on the way down.”

Bronn looked sharply at me. I gulped; how the blazes had he known that I was thinking about my nice new shooting-rifle?

“We have arranged to dine at the local inn”, I said not sweating at all, “because we did not know our time of arrival and did not wish to put you to any trouble.”

And because my pregnant mate does not need food poisoning just now, I added silently. That earned me another sharp look.

“Most regrettably we cannot stay long”, I went on. “With my beloved in his current state I do not wish him to be away from his home for any longer than is necessary. We shall have to leave the day after the funeral.”

“And I shall look forward to seeing you and my new grandchild in a few months’ time!” Mrs. Blackwater beamed.

I made a mental note to pay my servants extra bonuses come September. They would surely be earning them! _And would some smart-arsed omega not nod like that!_

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The funeral passed off uneventfully, even if the vicar somewhat glossed over certain details of the dratted woman's demise, which judging from the sniggers I heard were pretty much known to all. I made a point of seeking out Mr. Mallister afterwards.

“I made it clear to your uncle that he could call on my offices any time for help”, I told Bronn later. “I understand that he is financially secure but it always helps to have a back-up, just in case.”

He smiled at me in gratitude. 

“I reminded Mother that we would not need a meal”, he said, “especially as I was sure that you would gorge yourself at the wake.” (I pouted at that; free food was not to be turned down even by someone in my position). “Thankfully Uncle Raedwald is quite modern; I always think it morbid to be eating in the same house as a dead person.”

“We have successfully avoided your mother’s cooking!” I beamed. “As the vicar said, let us be thankful for small mercies.”

He very unfairly swatted at me for that quite accurate remark. Harrumph!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

We met Harry and Gendry at the wake – they had only just made it to the funeral after their carriage had lost a wheel in London – and they had some news of Kent and my terrible great-aunt. She had paid a brief visit to me during one trip to London the previous year but as yet there had been no invitation to Rosings. She had angled very clearly in her last letter for a trip to Pemberley, and had doubtless been mightily annoyed by my iteration of my warning to her over that. Until Bronn set foot in Rosings, she was barred from our home.

“Lady Alcyone is well”, Harry said, “though she did suffer a mild disappointment shortly after the recent festive season. She had hoped to arrange a marriage between Lady Diana and a local landowner, but things fell through at an advanced stage.”

“Why was that?” I asked.

“He met her!” Gendry said acidly. Harry looked at him reprovingly but the omega stared back unabashed.

“Gunny”, the vicar said warningly.

“Is that untrue?” his mate asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

The vicar reddened. Problems of being a Man of God, I thought wryly; lying was not really an option.

“Lady Diana, now she is of age, had acquired more than a little of her mother's airs”, he admitted ruefully. “Regrettably she did not inherit the charitable spirit to counter it.”

“She told the poor fellow how lucky he was that she would deign to consider him!” Gendry smiled. “He fairly ran out of the house!”

I managed to turn a laugh into a cough. Well, almost managed. I still got a glare from a certain mate of mine.

“How are you feeling?” Bronn asked, adroitly changing the subject. “You look well.”

“Very well now that Geoffrey ended his visit”, his friend sighed, “and thankfully just days before we got the news about your aunt otherwise he would have to have travelled with us. He and Lady Alcyone found they had a lot in common, which I suppose proves that even the Good Lord makes mistakes more than once.”

His husband tutted at him for that. I had no idea why; the fellow was quite correct and I was getting another look, damnation!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**March 1811**

Despite what some cruel omega later claimed, I was _not_ trembling. Nor was I hiding behind him as our guest was introduced to us. I was an alpha and..... it was damn cold in the room!

Lieutenant Jason D'Argent had finally arrived. All six foot nine of Lieutenant Jason D'Argent. And not only was he tall, he had the solidity that so few tall people have, as if the Good Lord had decided to add twenty-five per cent extra muscle mass to an alpha to see what would result.

What had resulted could probably have buried me in the back garden without breaking a sweat! I did not however 'whine in fear' as some cruel omega later claimed. It was a high-pitched cough.

“You are most welcome, sir”, Bronn said with an annoyingly knowing smile. “We have put you in the Fifth Bedroom over in the East Wing.”

I had reluctantly agreed to have the fellow in the house, but that had been before I had seen his sheer size! And the Fifth Bedroom! The one with the emperor-sized bed. That smirking omega of mine had _known!_

“Thank you sirs”, the thing growled. “Denny - Lieutenant Morden-Tully - said I could depend on his cousin Mr. Bronn here.”

“That you can”, said someone who had a lot of explaining to do some time soon. “We shall see you at dinner.”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

“Well, _I_ might see him”, he grinned once the behemoth had left us. _”You_ will probably be quaking behind the potatoes!”

I scowled at that.

“I do _not_ quake!” I said crossly, wiping away some sweat which had unaccountably appeared on my face. 

He just looked at me. Damnation!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**April 1811**

Although Pemberley was huge and my brother lived in the opposite wing of the house, it still seemed oddly silent with him gone for the weekend. I had been anxious about the Imp accompanying 'Drogo' (as he preferred to be called and who was I to argue?) to York for the weekend. The city had an excellent clothes shop that provided my brother's quality clothes and, hopefully, they could cope with what was about to walk through the doors at the other end of Mankind's wide scale.

We were back in the downstairs bedroom again as my beloved was at that stage of his pregnancy where he found the stairs a problem. Although he did not find reducing his poor alpha to a state of sexual exhaustion a problem; King James was currently not on speaking terms with me. Again!

Mrs. Peters was of the opinion that our next child was destined to be a girl as, she said, prolonged cravings were a sure sign of that. It was certainly true that Bronn's demands (for food, mercifully) had lasted longer than usual; he had looked at me yesterday as if I was the cruellest alpha ever for not bringing him bacon in his breakfast and I had had to run back to the breakfast-room in my underpants (to the amusement of several footmen, damn the fellows!) to fetch it for him.......

Oh no! It was not bacon he wanted this morning. Lord help me!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**May 1811**

It had been a trying month, with two false alarms before the twenty-third (the date one month ahead of the due date after which omega births were said to be less risky) and one just after. But when on the last day of the month our third child finally did decide to arrive three weeks ahead of time I was my usual cool, calm and collected self, coping with the sudden stress easily as I......

 _Someone_ is shaking his head at me. All right, I was a mess. I could normally have relied on Mrs. Peters who had some experience of this sort of thing, but unluckily she was visiting her sister who had had a fall (she had not wanted to leave us at this time but Bronn had insisted and had me pay for her trip) so all I could do was send for the midwife and hope for the best. Or so I thought, except that an unlikely saviour appeared in the form of Drogo who, he explained, had assisted at the births of several of his nephews and nieces from his two younger omega brothers.

The lieutenant and my brother worked as a team to soothe poor Bronn, and before the midwife could even get here I was again a father, this time of a beautiful baby daughter who we had already decided would be called Mary. I was so proud of my mate.

“Nine more and we will have a round dozen”, he smiled.

I looked at him in horror. Lord have mercy!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: Richard Trevithick's_ 'Catch Me Who Can' _, built three years earlier (1808). It was financially unsuccessful but paved the way for later developments, mainly by proving several times that something as heavy as a steam locomotive needed a very solid track to run on or it would fall over. A lot._


	5. Overreach And Understanding

**June 1811**

I would have done anything for my mate in the months after he had given birth, and he knew it. Which was why I was quietly seething in my study and most definitely not hiding behind my chair _and that had better damn well not be another bloody smirk!_

The reason for my unhappiness was currently coming close to scraping the ceiling before me. It was I suppose faintly ridiculous that Drogo had my brother, less than two-thirds his size, in front of him almost as a shield, whereas I just happened to be behind the highest-backed chair in the room. Which I was grasping rather too hard in my annoyance at having gone over to ask the Imp something and encountered him and Drogo coming down the stairs. With a deliriously happy Tyrion impaled on..... I mean, no big brother had surely ever been bad enough to see something like that!

Bronn gave me a knowing look; damn him and his good memory! All right, very few big brothers.

“You _knew!”_ I not-complained to my mate.

He gave me a sharp look that said I would be paying for that non-complaining tone sooner rather than later. Great! Out of the frying-pan and into the fire!

“Of course”, he said calmly. “Why did you think I suggested that they visit York together?”

I knew that since the Imp's dwarfism meant he did not have any heats, there was no chance of..... that thing I so, so desperately did not want to think about, but even so this was my little brother. Who was giving me the same look of disapprobation I was getting from my mate. So much for being master in my own home!

(Arthur and Eddie had come over the day before and my friend had said how much he enjoyed owning his own place and being the master there. I had said much the same, and wondered if several of my servants _liked_ being employed when they pulled those sort of faces! Skelton had even coughed, damn the rogue! And I could not so much as discipline them because I knew it would get back to a certain omega who would then be Displeased, which would mean no horse-riding - and very little walking come to that - for some days thereafter).

“Jaime and I are both happy for you”, Bronn said firmly, giving me a look to say that I _was_ happy or else. I managed to fake a smile and nodded.

“I truly am”, I said with what everyone must have known was false cheer. “Indeed, I look forward to the wedding.”

Where as best man I will make one hell of a speech, I thought silently to myself, because that is..... damnation my mate was shaking his head at me _again!_ Next thing he would be reading my every thought....

Why was he nodding like that?

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Bronn smiled as he read the first of his two letters.

“Gendry and Harry have just had a second son”, he told me. “A beta this time; they plan to call him Horatio.”

“After Nelson, I suppose?” I said. It was only six years since we had lost the great man at Trafalgar after he had crushed a Franco-Spanish fleet larger than his own.

“I _knew_ that you were more than just a pretty face”, chuckled someone who did not wish to get lucky any time soon.

I pouted at the tease, then grew concerned as he frowned on reading his second letter.”

“Bad news from home?” I asked. Even at this distance, Mrs. Blackwater's scrawl was unmistakeable. That and there were eight pages that _someone_ had had to pay for again!

“I am not sure”, he said. “Oliver is to be married.”

I looked at him in surprise. Shortly after our visit to Hertfordshire Oliver Blackwater had crossed to Ireland where he was to train as a priest. It was I supposed a fitting job for an omega (I had not said as much to my mate as was evidenced that I still had certain body parts attached!) and I had silently hoped that he might convince my dreadful mother-in-law to join him one day. Soon. And permanently.

“To whom?” I asked.

“He has apparently met an alpha in deepest Connaught and decided to ‘unite with him so that they might increase God’s flock in his Glory’”, Bronn quoted, keeping an admirably straight face. “Mother is hitting the roof. He plans to marry this Rory MacColla next month and she will not be there.”

“I could buy her a ticket”, I offered at once.

He looked at me shrewdly. It was oddly cold for June, I thought.

“That might mean that she could miss her trip here”, he observed.

I blushed. He could always see right through me, damnation!

“Make the offer today”, he smiled. “That could be our wedding present to my brother – allowing our mother to be there for him.”

“Bad omega!” I teased.

“I could always invite her here on her way back…”

“Iwillwritetheletternow”, I said not at all quickly.

The bastard still smirked, damn him!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**November 1811**

It was the wedding of my little brother to Lieutenant D'Argent, and I was not pouting. I was not sulking. And some bastard of an omega had not even allowed me to make any pointed remarks in my best man's speech, muttering that if I did there would be Consequences.

Still not whipped.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Some two weeks later we learned that Edmund was pregnant again (I was sure that Arthur was competing with me in the virility stakes, the swine!). I was however pleased for them both, if a little anxious for my own mate whose heats had not resumed after our own latest addition to the family. Even if certain body parts of mine were relishing the rest.

Not all body parts, I might add. Apparently not having a heat led to an omega being much more inclined to give than take!

Arthur had had to ride over to Chesterfield on business and had stopped off on his way home. I had sent Bronn over to keep his brother company while he was gone and so welcomed my friend. Who looked terrible!

“Lord alone knows what we will get this time”, he muttered, collapsing inelegantly into a chair. “Probably triplets the way he keeps on keeping on. I have ordered a full crate of that cooling unguent; I am all alpha'd out!”

I smiled and poured him a drink, but before I could turn to take it to him I heard the sound of gentle snoring from behind me. I slipped quietly from the room and left him to recover. Some alphas were just not up to snuff these days!

And how the blazes could I hear my mate doing a judgemental silence from four miles away?

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**May 1812**

Reuben Dayne was born just after midday on May the twelfth, on a dark grey day that seemed to match the mood of the nation. The day before, a disgruntled businessman called Henry Bellingham had shot and killed the prime minister Spencer Perceval, right there in the lobby of the House of Commons¹. What were things coming to?

Edmund's labour had been long and difficult this time, and Arthur had grown increasingly anxious for him. Although the omega had been able to hold his new-born son for a few moments after birth and was clearly overjoyed that he too had a fellow omega in the family, the doctors recommended him getting as much rest and as soon as possible, and he reluctantly agreed to go to sleep. Arthur cradled his tiny new omega son in his arms.

“He has our father’s brown-black hair”, Bronn said with a smile. “But definitely his own father's eyes.”

“I was so worried about him”, Arthur fretted. “I would have been happy to stop after Mark but he wants a large family. He said he wants at least one more.”

“Perhaps wait a couple of years before that”, I offered. “Not every omega wants sex all the time, Arthur.”

“Speak for yourself”, Bronn said with a slight smirk. “You are lucky, Arthur. Five healthy sons is a fine thing.”

“I am not sure ‘fine’ is quite the right word”, Arthur admitted. “Balin and Balan are a right handful at the moment, always pulling pranks on each other. I made it clear that there would be punishments if they targeted the rest of us or the staff, though, after that incident with the maid and the bucket of water. And I made them clean it all up, too.”

“Quite right too”, I said. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

“Like letting Martin have bits of your dinner?” some far too observant omega pointed out.

I may or may not have reddened slightly. Arthur laughed at me.

“I am teaching my son and heir how to eat well”, I said defensively. “Setting a good example.”

Two people I no longer liked exchanged knowing looks, which I very pointedly ignored.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**November 1812**

The news from the Continent was confused but, I thought, hopeful. As we had hoped the Russians had declined to renew the recently expired truce with France and Napoleon had amassed a huge army – over half a million by some accounts – which he had used to reach and take Moscow, only to find the Russians had set the place on fire and taken not only all the fire-engines but the food stocks as well. An early onset of the ferocious Russian winter meant that the Little General was now retreating back to France in poor order. His distraction had allowed Wellington to once more press forward and make some hopefully this time tenable gains in Iberia, and things overall looked hopeful.

Weather-wise it had been a pretty miserable year, I thought as I laid back on the couch, my mate nuzzling into my chest under the blanket. Spring had proven a washout, whilst summer had put in an appearance for a couple of days in July and then apparently thought that that was more than enough effort on its part. Bronn, bless him, had insisted on an extra sack of coal for all the estate workers to help with their fuel costs; little wonder he was so beloved by them.

My mate had I knew been worried by his brother's failure to recover fully from his latest pregnancy. My beloved had spent many hours over at Lynton while I had worried that his own heats still remained irregular (the pregnancy book that I now knew almost off by heart warned very strongly against sex with an omega at times like this, and I loved my mate too much to even consider such a thing). And to cap it all his awful mother had indeed managed to call in on her way back from Ireland, which had made both Bronn and Edmund even more depressed.

“Would you like to get away from it all for a while?” I offered, hugging the omega even closer.

He shook his head.

“Edmund needs me near him just now”, he said. 

“As you wish, beloved”, I said, sighing as I held him close. The world outside was rough and uncertain, but as long as I had my omega I would be all right. 

I hesitated before breaching the next subject.

“I had a letter from my great-aunt the other day”, I said quietly.

I felt him tense up immediately. Lady Alcyone was, incredibly even for her, still sulking over my marriage, matters not being helped by yet another attempt to marry off her grand-daughter ending because of the latter's ill-nature. I had half-feared my great-aunt might stoop so low as to take her anger out on Harry but fortunately that had not happened, and the vicar was still able to keep us informed of developments down in Kent.

“What does she say?” Bronn asked.

“She asks if I have a ruby brooch that she knows my mother left me”, I said, rubbing his hand through the omega’s ever unruly hair. “She wishes to make a presentation jewellery set for Diana for her birthday in two months' time, rubies to go with her favourite dress.”

“Is that the one that looks like mismatched curtains, or the one like an army tent?” he asked mischievously.

I tutted at him, no matter how accurate his observations were (very accurate).

“Do you have it?” he asked.

“Yes”, I said. “It was in the box of jewellery that I showed you when we married, and you picked out what you liked. I think it was my grandmother’s so it was rather old and perhaps outdated. It would definitely need cleaning.”

“I remember it”, Bronn said. “Would you be prepared to part with it, though?”

“Only if you do not wish to keep it for Mary”, I said.

He thought for a moment.

“It would be a small olive-branch”, he said slowly, “and surely even she cannot hold a grudge forever. Yes. Let her have it – but you might say that I part with it 'in the spirit of friendship with dear Diana'.”

“She will hate that!” I said with a smile.

“I know!”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: The old Palace of Westminster, stretching back to at least the eleventh century. It was destroyed by fire twenty-two years later._


	6. The St. Valentine's Day Venting

**March 1813**

I was not the least bit annoyed when Bronn told me that Lieutenant D'Argent had suggested to him the use of short-term heat suppressants to stabilize his still errant heats, and that our doctor had agreed with this diagnosis. Although my mate's analogy that it might be like a volcano, delaying an eruption until it was a major one – poor King James had trembled at that!

Talking of the lieutenant, Bronn told me that he had taken Tyrion away to the Lincolnshire coast last month for a St. Valentine's Day surprise. I had barely noticed their going except that _someone_ had dared me to walk the length of the upper corridor with him impaled on King James, and I had been pleased and proud that I could still do it with ease. And I only had a nap afterwards because he said I should. 

My beloved had come off said suppressants shortly after my 'walk' and we celebrated by..... I shall just say I sat down very carefully on and for the week after! And someone's smirk was still damnably annoying.

It was early March now and I could scent my mate coming into heat again. Matters were not helped when he smiled coquettishly across the table.

“Not helping, beloved!” I not-whined. “I am strongly minded to jump you right here and now!”

“I am sure that the table could stand the weight”, Bronn smiled back. “Even with all those desserts you keep putting away.”

My hand moved instinctively to the small but persistent pudge all my work had proven unable to shift, and I groaned when I saw him watching me. Fortunately he took pity on me.

“What is in the news?” he asked.

“Those Luddites are still smashing machines up in the North”, I said, glad to peruse the paper and take my mind away from the gutter for a moment.

He nodded.

“They cannot stop progress”, he said. “And hanging them does not seem to deter others.”

“Indeed”, I sighed. “And there is another of those newfangled steam locomotives¹ appearing, this time up in Northumberland to haul coal trucks.”

“Soon they will be using those things to move people”, Bronn said. “How about going back to our room for dessert?”

I just stared at him.

“How can you come out with things like that?” I gasped.

“Because I want _you_ for dessert.”

I definitely did not sprint to our room. But I may have walked exceptionally fast. And have fallen over the carpet in my eagerness.

Ah. Apparently I was batting before I was bowling. Oh well, needs must.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**September 1813**

This had been a weird pregnancy, and I had fretted all the way through it. No endless demands for sex (King James at least was relieved about that!), very few cravings, and my beloved hardly seemed to be swelling up at all. We both feared the worst but we were fortunately proven wrong by the arrival of a tiny omega addition to our family on the first day of autumn. We were both mightily relieved but my beloved still seemed unsettled for some reason.

“What is it?” I pressed.

“I had an idea for a name”, he said carefully, “from the book I was reading when my waters broke.”

The _Iliad_ I recalled. Oh.

“Which one?” I asked.

“Palamedes”, he said. “The brave soldier who was so cruelly killed through the treachery of Ulysses.”

That.... was not as bad as I had feared.

“A good choice”, I smiled. “Palamedes it is.”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**March 1814**

It was Martin's sixth birthday, and a time for celebration all round. The Peninsular War was all but over with Wellington set to enter France and deliver the _coup de grace_ to that villain Napoleon. And we had also had good news from Kent where Gendry and Harry had had a further addition to their own family, their first alpha whom they were calling Paul.

“That was Harry's cousin, the one who died in Portugal”, I recalled. “Does not the name mean ‘hardy warrior’ or some such thing?”

“The Irish version does”, my mate said. “The English one means ‘wood of crows’, which bearing in mind that time we heard Harry trying to sing….”

I winced at the memory. I had grown to like Harry despite the somewhat bumpy start to our relationship, but my fellow alpha's many talents did not extend to hitting anywhere near the right note. Ever!

“At least I have my perfect omega”, I smiled. 

“And I have my alpha”, Bronn smiled back, opening another letter. “Oh. This one is from Eddie?”

“How are he and Arthur enjoying Scotland?” I asked. Our two friends had gone North of the Border to look at renting a hunting-lodge come summer.

Bronn read a little further.

“Planning to stay here…. local people very friendly..... weather better than expected…”

I stared at him in shock.

“Arthur is leaving?” I asked. “He never said!”

He looked up in mock confusion.

“Oh sorry”, he said in what was clearly fake contrition. “I meant they are planning to stay for an extra week.”

I scowled at the teasing bastard.

“You did that deliberately!” I snapped. 

His look of innocence was some way beyond believable. Honestly, why on earth had I married the rogue?

“I do not suppose we would be lucky enough for them to take The Wicked Witch Of The North with them?” I said hopefully. Despite a string of potential suitors Kersey had still not found anyone desperate or stupid enough to marry her, and her letters (which I had to pay for, damnation!) were always full of complaints about.... well, everything. Impossibly she still believed that she had lost me to Bronn, which was frankly ridiculous as I had loathed her from the start.

“You were not overly fond of someone else at first”, my mate reminded me, doing that horrible mind-reading thing of his. “'Not handsome enough to tempt _me'_ , remember?”

I blushed. A mind-reader _and_ a bloody diary!

“I was a fool”, I said firmly. “And I deserved that first rejection of yours, every minute of it, along with all the suffering that came after. I am only thankful that you came to accept me in the end.”

He stood up and walked over to the door, pausing to look meaningfully at me. I shuddered. I knew that look all too well.

“Oh Jaime”, he said in a low voice, “I will always accept you. _In the end.”_

Despite the fact that he knew damn well using The Voice on me without warning pretty much fried my brain, I still managed to catch him up by the bedroom door.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**August 1814**

Drogo had finally taken over from Alan in one of the two smithies in Lambton, which meant that he and Tyrion had moved into the village. It should not have been that different with them gone – Pemberley was so huge that we rarely met them except when we arranged it – but the house just felt different somehow.

Some bastard of an omega mate I could mention had suggested that this meant I could do what I had done earlier that year and walk around the place with him impaled on my cock. He really was impossible at times! Fortunately there would be none of that for a while, as late the previous month I had woken to the wonderful sound of my beloved throwing up in the lavatory.

All right, I had made the mistakes of both sniggering and getting caught by his return, and I had had to cancel my plans to go riding later that day. But it had been so worth it!

“Thirteen pages!” I moaned as I scanned the huge sheaf of papers. “When my great-aunt wishes to say something, she really says it. She is furious!”

I just _knew_ that someone was smirking inside, despite his straight face. For the past year almost my great-aunt had been conducting negotiations for her grand-daughter to marry a neighbouring lord who was divorced, nearly twice her age (fifty-eight to her thirty-one) and generally repulsive. Except it had all blow up most enjo.... unhappily when Diana had announced that she was enamoured of the local innkeeper's son, a Mr. Thomas Hardman – oh, and the young rogue had already put her in the family way! Oops!

How Bronn had refrained from laughing when I told him was a miracle. This was the third letter concerning the scandal in less than a month, and for once he was all too eager to read my great-aunt's copious verbiage.

“Such a terrible scandal”, he said reprovingly. “Lady Alcyone will not be able to hold her head up in high society ever again. She has I suppose refused sanction for the union?”

I read on, then baulked

“She tried to”, I said. “The girl has run away with her lover!”

He thought about that for a moment.

“Perhaps Mr. Clegane might be able to find her?” he suggested.

I did not really wish to do anything to help a relative I loathed, but there was I suppose Diana to consider.

“The girl might have been in my position”, Bronn smiled, again reading my mind without permission. “You could have had her terrible dress sense to come home to every evening.”

I shuddered at the terrible image.

“I think her grandmother chose most of those horrors”, I said. “At least for her lover's sake, I sincerely hope so!”

“Some alphas insist on their omegas wearing female attire, even in this day and age”, Bronn observed. “I am thankful that you do not do that.”

“Of course I would not”, I said firmly.

He looked sharply at me. Surely he was not....

“But you have thought about lacy panties”, he grinned. “I chanced to look in your clothes drawer the other day.”

Aliens in a passing spaceship could have seen my blush. This could not be worse!

“And I observed that they were in your size, not mine!”

I rescinded my last observation. Trust me to end up with the omega who.... who was nodding at me in a way that.... Lord help me!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The Lord did not. And verily, I was glad!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**October 1814**

I had paid for one of Harley Street's best doctors to come all the way to Derbyshire, but to little use. All he could suggest was that it was likely twins (not, as Bronn had suggested, a baby elephant!) and that one or both might be alphas, so my mate should avoid all stress for the rest of the pregnancy. I tried to keep it from him but I knew that this was not good; alpha multiple births were risky for omegas. I would make sure to avoid leaving Pemberley as much as possible until it was all over.

 _One way or another_ , I was unable to stop thinking.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1:_ 'Puffing Billy' _, the world's oldest surviving steam locomotive now preserved at the Science Museum in London. It was moderately successful although it did not cope well with gradients. So famous did it become however that two replicas have been built, one of which at the Beamish Museum in Durham is a working one._


	7. Six

**January 1815**

This was going to me a momentous year as it turned out, both nationally and closer to home. It started with the news that Arthur - to be more exact, what was left of Arthur – brought over on New Year's Day. Finally Edmund was pregnant again and my friend was exhausted; they had found out a week ago and this was the first time he had been allowed out of the house. He had had to come over in the carriage because riding a horse.... no.

I had brought the news to Bronn who smiled when I told him, then frowned for some reason.

“What is it?” I asked, immediately worried.

“It is time”, he said quietly.

Oh.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

I should have been an old hand at this but our latest arrivals, having announced their intentions to appear, now seemed unsure. Meanwhile the midwife tutted at me and Bronn screamed several suggestions that, I hoped, were physically impossible. Unfortunately that damn pregnancy book had said that of all the faculties to be affected by a pregnancy, an omega memory was not one of them. Gulp!

Finally however the midwife was extracting a large baby who, I was both delighted and worried to see, was indeed an alpha. And my beloved was still screaming.

“Looks like you were right”, the midwife said with a calmness I could but envy. “The other one is an alpha as well, and keen to join the party. Here he comes!”

That was the moment when the shock of the thing proved too much for me and I collapsed from all the stress (I did _not_ faint!).

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

I was mortified when I came to, and my first thought was for my beloved Bronn. He looked utterly drained and smiled weakly at me, only his eyes gesturing to the two cots across the room. I gulped again at the size of the two alphas; how on earth had he managed to.... well, how?

I held him until he fell asleep, then quietly stole away to have a conversation with the midwife which, I knew, was only going to go one way. I was right; she warned me that the shock of a double alpha birth had nearly proven too much for my beloved, and only his relatively large build for an omega had gotten him through it. I was strongly advised not to have any more children for my mate's own safety, something I immediately promised to do. My beloved came first, now and forever.

Bronn woke up some little time later and was able to feed both our new sons. I think he knew as well as I that we had pushed our luck as far as it would go and we would not be adding to our brood of six. Which left the obvious other question.

“What did you think about names?” I asked. As alphas I would traditionally have had the right of naming our newest sons, but after what my beloved had been through that was not even a consideration.

“I thought after our two middle names”, he said quietly. “Jarvis and Nicholas.”

I smiled at him.

“Fine names for alphas”, I agreed. 

“And since Jarvis was my mother's maiden name, I am sure she would want....”

I silenced him with a kiss.

“Do not even go there!” I grumbled.

The bastard sniggered.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**April 1815**

There was news from the Continent, and it was nearly all bad. Winter storms had enabled the horrible Napoleon, who had been imprisoned on the Italian island of Elba¹ after his defeat the year before, to escape and re-enter France. Where the Frogs, seemingly happy to start up Round Three of their War Against Everyone, had welcomed him with open arms.

On the upside British troops were being rushed over to the Netherlands² to deal with the pest, and those sent had included a certain army captain relation of mine who.... well, one could but hope for the worst, even if said relation's brother kept looking disapprovingly at me when the subject came up.

On the (other) downside I had had to agree to a visit from Bronn's mother and his brother Marcus. And because of my beloved's still variable health after his traumatic pregnancy I had not been able to run aw.... to find business elsewhere that would have enabled me to have avoided them. Damnation!

Bronn looked at his mother in confusion.

“Why should Gendry not visit his home?” he asked.

“He travelled alone, all the way from _Kent!”_ she said, making it sound as if our friend had journeyed from Siberia. “Highly improper in this day and age. Not even a servant with him!”

“He is married to a Church of England vicar”, Bronn pointed out reasonably. “Perhaps his husband could not spare the time away from his duties? We know that Lady Alcyone can be... demanding.”

And water can be wet, I thought not at all cattily. Of course that earned me a sharp look from a certain mind-reading omega.

“I think there may have been problems with Lord Robert”, Marcus said. “The gossip around the village is that he contracted some sort of disease after his latest trip to the West Indies.”

“Well, I _never_ listen to gossip!” Mrs. Blackwater declared roundly.

Bronn and his brother exchanged pointed glances, and both were clearly making an effort not to laugh. I coughed for no reason whatsoever.

I still got glared at. Damnation!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**June 1815**

In my abject and utter stupidity, I had thought that life with my beloved might become calmer now that I was no longer having sex with him during his heats. And said heats were much reduced in length and frequency after the birth of the twins, so all should have been well.

Ha! Freaking! Ha!

I sank back onto their bed, panting heavily. I may not have been as young as I once was but Heavens to Betsy, Bronn had gone all out that night! Ostensibly it had been to celebrate the defeat of that villain Napoleon at Waterloo, or for some other reason I could not recall as my brain was no longer fully functional. I might have to stay in bed all tomorrow to recuperate!

The prospect was not that off-putting. 

My tormentor loomed above him and looked at me inquiringly. I sighed. One of the omega sons of an estate worker had come round the other day saying that his father wished to sell him off into marriage, and Bronn had asked earlier that I step in. If I did, he promised, there might be something white and lacy next week!

I prefer to think of it as a manly whine.

“All right”, I gasped. “I went and saw Tristan's father, Mr. Martell, and told him that you wanted the boy to train as a footman at our London house. I do not think he wanted to sell him to me, but I made it quite clear that you were set on him and that I would take it very badly if he said no.”

“It is still wrong that you had to pay money for another human being”, Bronn said with a frown, “but at least Triss is safe now.”

“And asking me just before we did that was damnably unfair!” I groused. “You know that I can never say no to you at times like that!”

Bronn chuckled.

“I was counting on it”, he smirked. “But obviously it is only fair that I try to make amends.”

I suddenly realized where the omega was heading whilst we had been, and let out a small (but still manly) whimper. Again? Hell, I was mere mortal man!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**July 1815**

There was news.

The good news was that Arthur and Edmund had had their first daughter, whom they were calling Edith. It had been a difficult birth as, most unusually, Edmund had been full two weeks overdue, and like me Arthur had decided that six children was more than enough. And that had nothing to do with him falling asleep while he was talking to me, he _claimed._

The.... other news which only a very cruel person could have considered good was that I had lost a family member. Captain Darius Wickham had been killed after the Battle of Waterloo, fittingly not during any fighting but shot by a disgruntled local whose house he had been ransacking. I am sure my beloved knew that I was far from sorry but I duly arranged for his brother Robert to receive a pension and even to be admitted to Pemberley on his way down to Hertfordshire. And if Edwy and I went out for a celebration drink not long after we had received the news, that was to mark Wellington's victory and nothing else.

It was really unnerving when my mate gave me the sort of look that said he could see right through me.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**August 1815**

Shortly after Mr. Robert Blackwater's departure Pemberley had some much more welcome guests; Mr. and Mrs. Smallwood. However Bronn's aunt and uncle had a problem of their own.

“Rachael wants to go out and do missionary work!” Mrs. Smallwood sighed. “And this great lummocks wants to let her!”

“Now my love”, her husband said soothingly. “I did not say we should allow it. But you know our girl; if we tell her a flat no she will probably go anyway.”

From what my beloved had told me of his feisty cousin that seemed all too likely.

“Perhaps she could be persuaded to consider working for one of those missionary societies?” Bronn suggested. “Just to start with, at least.”

His aunt turned to him and I knew she was about to let rip again.

“I think what my beloved means is that you could ask her to spend six months or a year working for a society _in England”_ , I cut in smoothly. “That way she could see if it was something she really wanted to do before setting off somewhere to preach to the heathens? I have a few contacts that may be useful.”

Mrs. Smallwood glared at her husband.

“Now why could not _you_ think of that?” she demanded tartly.

Mr. Smallwood did not answer, but instead reached for a drink. My beloved was, I could see, having to work hard to bite back a smile.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: An island some 86 square miles in area, situated some six miles off the Tuscan coast. Napoleon would later be moved to the rather more remote Atlantic island of St. Helena, over 1,200 miles from the African coast, where he would die in 1821._  
 _2: Then a generic term for the area now covering the Netherlands (commonly but wrongly called Holland), Belgium and Luxembourg. An attempt to unite it into the United Provinces proved short-lived as religious differences would lead in the 1830s to the independence of Belgium._


	8. Gains And Losses

**January 1816**

“I still cannot believe that she actually made us put in writing!”

I winced at the forthrightness of Bronn's uncle who was visiting us this cold winter's day. My beloved and I had last night welcomed in what we hoped would be the first full year of peace for decades, and I was still sore in places that no alpha should ever have been sore in, no matter how good it felt. I had ordered coffee in an attempt to help me stay awake for our visitors, and I had still felt my eyes closing at one point. 

“Wore him out, did you?” Mr. Smallwood grinned. “Well done, nephew!”

“My husband is truly well done!” Bronn said mischievously. 

I scowled. That was just mean! No matter how true it was!

“My own flesh and blood should trust my word”, the older man groused. “I am still not happy about her 'life choices' as she calls them, but if that is what she wants then so be it.”

“And you did not, of course, suggest to the society that they make sure she sees _all_ aspects of missionary work in her time with them?” my mate suggested slyly. “Particularly the less pleasant ones?”

“Of course not!” Mr. Smallwood protested.

His nephew raised an eyebrow at him.

“All right, I did”, he admitted. “But she will thank me later!”

“As Jaime will me”, Bronn smiled. “Especially as I ordered in extra jars of that cooling unguent...”

“Nephew!”

I smiled, especially at the thought of that wonderful unguent and..... Lord my mate was looking at me that way again!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Despite the coffee I may or may not have had an _impromptu_ nap not long after Mr. Smallwood's departure. Someone's smirk as I roused myself was still annoying, though.

“A walking-stick?” I said, remembering his extra and belated Christmas present to me. “Really?”

“For all those walks on the Peaks”, he said innocently. “No reflection at all of your being in your fourth decade, beloved.”

I glared suspiciously as two of the maids set out the plates on the table between them. Both were perilously close to smirking, and both left quite quickly when they were done. I was sure that I heard a stifled laugh or two from outside the door. Harrumph!

“You will pay for that later”, I muttered, reaching rather too quickly for the potatoes and then wincing in pain. I ladled three large ones onto his plate before having to stifle a yawn.

“Are you sure you will be up to it?” Bronn asked cheekily. “We do not want to put on much of a strain on your poor old frame.”

I reached across to grab his hand over the potato dish.

“Forget tonight!” he said sharply. “Right after dinner!”

He still looked dubious, though. Right!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

I may have needed another nap afterwards, but the start to this year was certainly one to remember!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**July 1816**

Arthur and I were sat in one of the smaller rooms at Lynton, both trying to ignore the screams coming from the other room. Despite my friend's decision not to have any more children he had been caught by an unexpected rut back in January, which had led to the inevitable. Bronn had been spending much more time than usual with his brother during this pregnancy, which given the risks I could understand even if I missed my mate terribly. Thankfully Mrs. Fulmer, the recently-appointed housekeeper here, was by the Grace of God sister to a midwife over in Nottingham and had some skills in these matters, and Arthur had sent for Doctor Alton to come as soon as possible.

“I knew that we should never had had another child”, my friend said bitterly, looking out of the small bay window. “Damn rut!”

Beyond him I could see his three eldest sons playing outside, careless of the drama unfolding with their potential new sibling. I went over and placed a hand on my friend's shoulder. 

“He wanted this as much as you, Adey”, I said softly. “And he has Bronn with him, to help him through. He and Mrs. Fulmer can surely…..”

We were interrupted by the glorious sound of a pair of new-born lungs screaming their disapproval of the world at full volume. Arthur’s face shone for a moment, then fell as he considered his mate. Fortunately Bronn chose that moment to come through into the room.

“Both doing fine”, he said reassuringly. “Congratulations, brother. It is another alpha.”

Arthur looked like he was going to burst into tears and I quickly handed him my handkerchief.

“You had better go in now”, Bronn said. “You will want to hold your new son.”

Arthur nodded, apparently dumbstruck, and hurried into the other room. Bronn walked into my embrace and I hugged him close, despite his bloodied state.

“It was very close there”, he admitted once Arthur had shut the door. “If it had not been for Mrs. Fulmer, their son might not have made it.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“Six boys is more than enough for them”, I said firmly. “They cannot risk any more, surely?”

“Edmund might but I doubt that Arthur will let him”, he said, yawning. “I am tired, beloved. I think that I shall ask the servants if I can lie down in one of the bedrooms for a while.”

“I shall explain to Edmund when he asks for you”, I promised. “I love you.”

He smiled at me and left the room.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**July 1816**

“At least the news from my uncle is mostly good”, Bronn said over breakfast that morning. “Josiah has done well in his exams and is set to join some mechanical firm up in Manchester come September.”

“Machines, machines, machines!” I grumbled, biting viciously into my bacon. “One day they will find a machine that will replace humans, then we will all be done for!”

My beloved eyed me far too coquettishly. That was quite unfair, especially given recent events. King James trembled.

“I doubt they could invent a machine that could do what you did last night”, he said in a low voice. “Though if there is, I would like to purchase one. Maybe even a round dozen!”

I blushed fiercely. 

“What other news is there?” he asked, mercifully changing the subject.

“The weather¹ continues bad”, I said perusing the newspaper. “They say that it is the same in many places around the world. It will be a poor harvest this year.”

My mate was unusually silent at that. I looked at him curiously.

“I was thinking”, he said slowly, “that it might be good – if expensive – to buy in some extra grain for our estate workers. They are poor enough as it is, and will struggle to survive a bad winter.”

He looked at me pointedly, and I knew the unspoken truth behind his words. The previous year Lord Liverpool's government had passed the Corn Laws, which had restricted imports until the price of British-grown grain reached a set level. It had made rich landowners (like those in the government) even richer but was hitting the poor hard. Getting grain from abroad would be close to impossible.

“I would be..... grateful”, my beloved grinned. _”Very_ grateful.”

On the other hand, one had to look after one's workers!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**October 1816**

Bronn placed a reassuring hand over his aunt’s. She smiled at us both but it clearly took an effort.

“At least it is only Germany”, my beloved offered. “They could have sent her anywhere around the world, but probably wanted to start her off gently.”

Miss Rachael Smallwood had got her wish, and after nine weeks of training she was now a fully-fledged missionary. I privately thought that the Church of England should be grateful that all that energy was directed somewhere other than the homeland and my beloved had agreed with me on that. His aunt nodded.

“So what news from here?” she asked. She and her husband had recently taken a new house in the neighbouring county of Lancashire, partly because Josiah was at the works in Manchester, and were planning to settle there when Mr. Smallwood retired.

“Edmund's son was christened last week”, my mate told her. “Isaac they called him, after Mrs. Fulmer’s late husband; she was the one who helped him into the world and kept Edmund in it. The poor boy must have contracted every ailment known to childhood in his first three months, but at last he was well enough.”

“That is good”, his aunt smiled.

“And Martin got into yet another fight”, Bronn sighed. “One of the local boys down in Lambton called him something rude and the two started hitting each other.”

I had been very quietly proud of my son for standing up to a bully, and my body parts had been very quietly grateful that I had had the good sense not to voice that opinion.

“Did he win?” Mrs. Smallwood asked. My mate glared at her.

“That is beside the point”, he said archly, “but yes. Jaime is hopeless when it comes to discipline, though he says that does not matter as all our sons are terrified of me. It just makes me the bad parent in all this.”

I pouted. I was the alpha here and I was.... all right, I was not that good on discipline. But it still annoyed me that our sons and daughter were so much more in awe of their papa than me!

“Someone always has to play the tough man”, Mrs. Smallwood agreed. “Hereward and I usually take turns when it comes to Rachael.”

“And your sons?” Bronn asked. His aunt laughed.

“Josiah is always obsessed with those infernal machines of his, and I doubt he even notices us!” she smiled. “And James is so well-behaved that it worries me, but I have asked around and he just seems that good. Have you heard the news from London?”

“No”, Bronn said. “Does it concern Old Fatty?”

I tutted at him. He really was quite disrespectful to people at times.

“The Prince of Whales with an ‘h’!” his aunt said scornfully. “Sort of. His daughter is ill again, I am afraid.”

That did concern me, and I could see that Bronn was worried too. Despite the now insane king having had a dozen children grow to adulthood, they had incredibly conspired to produce only one legitimate grandchild for him, to wit the Princess of Wales. Earlier in the year she had married the dashing Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg² and the country was waiting in hope for the arrival of the next generation. 

“As are we all”, I said fervently.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: Massive climate change caused by the eruption of Mount Tambora in Sumbawa, modern Indonesia. It was recorded in England as 'The Year Without A Summer' as the 1816 harvest failed utterly, and those in the following years were also poor. A typhus epidemic that ensued was caused partly by the lack of food, and over 200,000 deaths across Europe were attributed to the disaster and its after-effects._  
 _2: He later became King Leopold I of Belgium when that country gained its independence in 1831; he had also been asked to become king of a newly-independent Greece but had refused. He retained connections to the United Kingdom however, and these were strengthened when in 1840 his nephew Albert married Queen Victoria._


	9. The Look Of.....

**February 1817**

By this time in our wonderful marriage I was more than fluent in 'Bronnese', especially knowing that certain looks from my beloved presaged certain (usually horizontal) things. Unfortunately the one I was getting just now did not presage a quick return to the bedroom for the sort of activities which would mean no riding that day. 

Well, no riding on horseback at least.

“Jaime, have we any properties in Scotland?”

I knew at once exactly where my mate was heading with that question.

“None as such”, I said. “I rented a shooting-lodge up there before we met, remember, but you said you did not like it the one time we went up so I did not renew it.”

He nodded. 

“You are concerned over the Highland Clearances¹”, I said knowingly. “Do not worry, beloved. I am no Duchess of Sutherland, throwing the good people of Scotland out of their houses in the name of ‘improvements’.”

My mate smiled back at me.

“I am sure you could never be”, he said.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**April 1817**

When I arrived home to be told that our son had been involved in another fight, I sighed heavily. Martin at nine was by and large a good boy but prone to outbursts of violence when provoked, especially in defence of his brothers. I appreciated that Bronn thought it important for our sons to mix with other children of different social levels – all right, I did not like it at all but my mate insisted and 'won' me over - but sometimes I just wished that they could mix a little less violently.

When I opened his study door however, I got a surprise. 

_“Broyn?”_

The young omega hung his head and stared into the fire. I went over and sat down in front of him, waiting.

“Papa said I should see you”, our eight-year-old son said quietly. “Martin and I went into Lambton to do some shopping today, and one of the boys in the bakery said something rude about papa.”

“You do know that your papa disapproves of violence”, I said gently. “Come, what was it that was said?”

He looked me full in the face. He was the image of his papa, and I knew that my mate was so proud of him.

“Marr, one of the local betas”, he said sharply. “He said that papa could not breed any more sons because you were sterile. I did not understand the word but I knew that it was an insult.”

I tried to keep my composure, though I may have gripped the arm of the chair a little more tightly.

“And who is this young Master Marr?” I asked coldly.

“The butcher’s son”, he said. “Father, am I in trouble?”

“Not this time”, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But you should report any such utterances straight to me in future, Broyn. I am an adult, after all, and I can deal with them in a calm and responsible manner.”

“As you wish, Father.”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Bronn looked at the breakfast table in surprise.

“Sausages again?” he asked.

“The butcher over-ordered so he let us have them for nothing”, I said airily.

He just looked at me. I lasted an impressive thirty seconds before I cracked. Thirtyish

“All right”, I admitted. “I may have gone down there after Broyn’s little _contretemps_ the other day and made my feelings clear about what his son said. Damnation Bronn, he insulted you!”

“My knight in shining armour”, he smiled. “And extra sausages to boot. I shall have to think of a way to...... show my gratitude.”

It took me rather less than thirty seconds to get that. Although I later learned that at my still young age, strenuous activity immediately after food was becoming unwise.

But it was definitely worth it!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**June 1817**

“This country is filling up too fast”, I said as my beloved and I sat in my study after lunch. I had been ill for a few days, and today had been the first day I had felt like eating very much. Possibly a little too much.

“It is not the only thing!” some blue-eyed bastard teased, eyeing my distended stomach.

“Hey!” 

I tried to hold my stomach in but it was a lost cause. 

“I think ten million people is a lot”, I said. “And too many of them today are living in towns and cities. England is changing, and I do not like the direction in which she is heading.”

“War changes things”, Bronn observed. “Although perhaps not as many as it should.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Liverpool's government is determined to stick to these dreadful Corn Laws despite the damage they are causing”, he said, yawning. “Yet they abolished income tax, the one levy on people like themselves, and their re-coinage² was yet another way of enriching themselves. Plus like all authoritarians they do not like criticism. It seems odd that we fought this war against someone trying to dominate all Europe, but now have a parliament determined to do whatever it likes to our own country.”

He was right, although he was smug enough not to need telling that. There had been pressure for reform before this mess with Napoleon, but of course the government had been able to tar reformers with the same brush as the Little General so the movement had faltered. But now we were at peace the calls for change would start up again, and I was sure the idiots in Westminster would have none of it.

I sighed. Peace seemed to bring almost as many problems as war. But at least I had my wonderful mate who.....

Who had fallen asleep in my arms. I loved that man so much!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**November 1817**

Mr. Smallwood was not happy.

“I cannot believe the country has gone so low!” he growled, as he, his wife and elder son sat in the Sun Room at Pemberley. “Attacking someone just because he is working towards the betterment of humanity.”

The Smallwoods had called in at Pemberley after Josiah had been attacked coming out his workplace in Manchester the week before. The Luddite attacks were few and far between by this time but they were still happening, as was witnessed by Master Josiah Smallwood's black eye and bruises.

“The damnable thing is that the boy was working on safety devices, to prevent the machines from seizing up so often”, Mrs. Smallwood said. “It is disgusting that some factory owners use small children to go in amidst moving machinery; these people should think before they act.”

“I gave as good as I got”, Josiah pouted. “I am an alpha, after all!”

There was a definite eye-roll from some smart-arsed omega as to the way some alphas behaved these days. I do not know why as I was _never_ like that and that had better damn well not be a smirk!

“Only because some of your friends chanced to come out while you were being attacked”, his father said sourly. “If they had not, who knows how far these thugs would have gone.”

“There is little public sympathy for them”, Bronn said. “Most people want to get on with the peace, as much as they can.”

 _“You_ do not support them, surely?” Mr. Smallwood asked, shocked.

“Not in their actions”, Bronn said, “and I know of course you would never do it, but some of these factory owners treat people little better than slaves. And the government doing stupid things like abolishing the one tax on rich people like themselves while enforcing the hated Corn Laws – it is little wonder that people are driven to such extremes.”

“Power corrupts”, I said, coming up behind my mate and wrapping him in an embrace. “Social responsibility costs money, beloved. And parliament will always look after itself first and the country second. It will take many voices before the murmur for change becomes a roar.”

“I seem to recall making you roar last night!” he said with a smile.

Our guests laughed as I blushed. Especially as he was all too right; even Carlton had brought me a honeyed drink while I was dressing, which had been a lot more welcome than the smirk he had been barely hiding!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**February 1818**

A sadistic and cruel person may have remarked that my current state of being totally sexed out was, just perhaps, at least partly of my own making.

All right, it was totally of my own making. _When would I learn?_

We had had a visitor the day before, a nondescript beta journalist up from Derby who had asked if he could interview Bronn. It turned out that my mate had joined something called the Hampden Club, a reform movement based in London, and the fellow had asked my mate what he thought of the Liverpool government. And Bronn, being Bronn, had told him.

I had thought such language would normally have been restricted to our bedroom!

In a moment of stupidity rare for me (and that had better damn well not have been another smirk!), I had challenged my mate once the fellow had left and he had said that he was sure he would be able to convince me of the rightness of reform. I was pretty much disposed to his point of view anyway but, for some reason, I had dared him so to do.

I was sure that I would be able to make it downstairs eventually. In the meantime I thanked the Lord for having the new flush privy installed only a mile away, or next door as someone claimed it was.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**May 1818**

I had been wrong. There was something worse than being driven into a state of sexual exhaustion by my cruel, sadistic mate. And yes, it was my own stupid fault again!

In a moment of generosity (or stupidity) I had agreed to allow a _short_ visit from The Wicked Witch Of The North as part of a holiday she was taking in the area (I had very firmly rebuffed her suggestion to stay overnight). And what a complete disaster even those interminably long hours with her had been! The wretched woman had insulted Bronn, sneered at our wonderful children and, when Arthur and Edmund had come over, upset them as well. Bronn had insisted on her being escorted from the house and when I had temporized and tried to reason with him, had given me a look that had had even the light-hearted Arthur crossing himself. 

I was in so much trouble!

The Wicked Witch was removed to a local inn, and for the next two weeks I had to do without. Not only that, Bronn would not even let me seek relief on my own, and as for the servants – if the Liverpool government had made smirking a sackable offence I would have packed off the whole damn lot of them! Worst of all my mate was a complete bastard of the first order, constantly teasing me in the knowledge that I could never be satisfied. 

And then last night I had finally been satisfied! I was sure that on my grave would one day be written the words 'Here Lies Jaime Lannister, Sexed To Death By His Omega'.

At least my fellow alphas would be envious of me!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: The Clearances were a move by English_ and _Scottish landowners in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries to switch over to sheep farming on marginally-productive lands. A famine around the time this story is set led to a change towards actively encouraging (and oftentimes forcing) local people to emigrate, and matters were not helped by the post-war collapse of the kelp trade. Elizabeth Leveson-Gower, wife of the 19th Duke, was a lead character in the Highland Clearances as she was seen to be the driving force behind changes on her husband's lands. A court case had arisen in 1814 in which one of her agents had been accused of the murder of an old lady who had died after her house had been burned to the ground; the accused got off but she was a social pariah thereafter. She was perhaps unlucky in that her being a woman earned her more attention that other worse offenders got but she was by no means innocent of the accusations levelled against her._  
 _2: A problem of the government's own making, to which they naturally responded by creating a second problem. The Corn Laws forced people to spend more of their money on corn, which led the currency as a whole to slump. Of course most people got screwed when it came to exchanging their old coins for new ones as there was, inevitably, 'an administration fee'._


	10. Trucks And Two Dales

**June 1818**

The one thing that was absolutely certain in this world was that I, alpha supreme and master in my own home, was most definitely not hiding.

“Stop hiding”, Bronn said with a smile as I sat on our bed, not pouting. “They are leaving today.”

It was a tribute to how much I loved my mate that I had graciously allowed his God-awful mother to come for a two-week visit – _fourteen long, interminable days!_ \- before paying for her to go on and spend a further two weeks sampling the delights of the spa at Harrogate in Yorkshire. Unfortunately she had brought Robert Wickham with her, his brother Marcus opting to remain behind in Hertfordshire. Probably enjoying some much welcome peace and quiet, I thought not at all enviously.

“Your brother is quite the flirt for a widower”, I observed, reluctantly pulling on my clothes to face the grey day and the ghastly relatives outside. Robert was, I had observed, not in mourning clothes so at least he gained back some marks for his lack of hypocrisy.

“Proof that sex alone cannot make a successful marriage”, Bronn said in his low growl, causing me to suddenly feel short of breath. “Although that is definitely a theory that still needs testing some time. Soon!”

The bastard knew that dropping his voice like that made things... hard. I would have to change into the loose trousers now!

“I could be quick!” I offered. He snorted.

“Perhaps once they are gone”, he said. “They have to leave before lunch if they are to connect with the coach at Sheffield.”

“Such a pity”, I said flatly. 

“Just for that I may make you wait until…..”

“I am _so_ looking forward to helping them enjoy their remaining time here!” I said quickly, if with obvious insincerity. 

Bronn eyed me again, but smiled. Phew!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The Lord was clearly against me that day because just as the relatives from Hell were finally rolling away down the drive after nearly half an hour of tearful goodbyes, Arthur rode up. I sighed. Life was so unfair at times.

“Eddie asked me to bring that book over that Bronn wanted”, he said. “I saw your mother riding away... oh.”

He looked at me and, rather belatedly, got it.

“I have to get straight back and help my mate with….. er, something”, he said, looking warily at me. Standing between an alpha and the omega he wished to mate with was somewhere between inadvisable and fatal, and he clearly had no wish to court danger. “Goodbye!”

He threw the book at Bronn who caught it, and fairly galloped away down the drive. 

“Well?” Bronn said.

“Well what?” I growled.

Bronn smirked at me, then bolted into the house. I snarled and gave chase. Sometimes it was good to let out the alpha in me and to be master of my own abode.

How the blazes could I _hear_ a smirk?

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**September 1818**

“Truck¹ tokens?”

I looked at my love in surprise. Of all the things I might have expected him to suggest, that had not even been on the list.

“These dreadful Corn Laws are still affecting the poor”, he said, “and word has gotten round that those on our estate are receiving charity. I care for those people, and I do not want others from miles around coming here to take food destined for them.”

“So?” I asked. I knew the truck system well and loathed it, so why my beloved would have had anything to do with such a thing seemed strange.

“I was thinking a token on top of the money we pay our workers”, Bronn said. “It would entitle them and only them to buy grain at a reduced price on the estate. It is not perfect but we have to care for our own first.”

That was true, I conceded. As a rich gentleman I knew that it was my social duty to do something for those less fortunate, but my own people came first. 

“Besides”, my beloved went on, his voice dropping again, “I am sure that I would have fun in..... 'persuading' you.”

Some day he really was going to kill me through sex. Or even the anticipation of sex. Still, we all had to go sometime.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**October 1818**

_Déjà vu_ , my beloved called it. The feeling of having been here before. Rather too many times in this case.

My eldest son stood before me hanging his head in shame, his unruly blond locks obscuring his red face.

“I am both shocked and surprised”, I said gravely. “I know alphas will be alphas, but really, Martin? _An omega?”_

My son and heir muttered something inaudible.

“Speak up!” I said sharply. 

“The local boys were making fun of me!” he said defensively. 

“You attacked an omega”, I said angrily. “That is _totally_ unacceptable! I know some people in society, presumably those who have just evolved out of caves, think that omegas are a type of property, but I thought that your papa and I had raised you better than that.” I saw that he was about to speak and hurried on. “No matter what the provocation, an alpha _never_ attacks an omega. It is just not done!”

“He teased me about my looking at one of the estate girls”, Martin said sulkily. “And Broyn said I should get myself a nice omega instead. Father, what is all this about alphas and omegas?”

I glanced at the clock, wishing fervently that it was near a mealtime so I could end the conversation. Or the end of the world; I was not fussy. 

No such luck.

“Only I came to call on you and papa the other day, and there were strange noises coming from your room”, my son said, looking confused. “And the door was locked.”

I could feel myself turning very red.

“Son”, I said slowly and reluctantly, “I think it is time that you and I had the Talk….”

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Bronn smiled at me across the dining-table. I barely noticed him, still lost in thought after my dreadful conversation with an eldest son who had been far too understanding given how awful the subject matter had been.

“Your conversation with Martin went well?” my mate asked.

“As well as might be expected”, I said. “Somehow we went from his attacking an omega to the birds and the bees. It was mortifying!”

I looked up just in time to see my beloved smiling.

“What?” I asked testily.

“Only Martin asked me earlier what the two of us were up in our room, so I told him”, he said with a smile. “In detail. And before he saw you.”

My eyes widened. The devious, evil, conniving, sneaky little bastard!

“He _knew?”_ I hissed.

“Apparently he was taking the opportunity to embarrass you”, my mate said with a smirk. “Quite successfully, from the sound of it.”

I scowled. Why did we have to have had children?

Bronn just looked at me. Oh yes. That.

The bastard quite deliberately ran his tongue around his lips, and I uttered what was most definitely a high-pitched cough. Nor did I fall over my feet as I hurried upstairs after him. So there!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**November 1818**

“I see that the Martians have taken London”, 

I looked up in surprise.

“What?” I asked abstractedly. I had been working hard these past two weeks as heavy autumn rains had flooded two of the villages on the estate, and Bronn had insisted on our being out and helping to rehouse people. That and his method of 'rewarding' my generosity meant that I was not quite fully awake just now.

Over ten years married and the smirk was as annoying as ever.

“Edwy has a problem”, Bronn said patiently, looking pointedly at my cousin who looked back at him in surprise.

“I do?” he asked.

“A social problem?” Bronn prompted.

No soldier of thirty-eight years of age should have blushed like that. Edwy looked mortified!

“I was introduced to Lady Darlington's omega son Christian”, he said quietly. “At that ghastly ball down in London, to mark the start of the Wed, Bed And Crown Stakes.”

I smiled at his choice of words. The Regent's only daughter Princess Charlotte had died the previous year, and it had belatedly dawned on everyone that of the King's twelve children she had been the only legitimate grand-daughter. Thus the months since had seen a rush to marriage as the elderly sons of the king had been paid to find brides and had then raced to produce an heir. Considering that the youngest of them was forty-four it still seemed a long shot, but the country was desperate.

“That is Lord Darlington's only omega son”, Bronn said (he was always up with the social scene despite evincing little interest in it). “Quite young as I remember?”

Edwy blushed.

“Nearly nineteen”, he muttered.

And being wooed by an alpha twice his age, I thought but very wisely did not say. Not just because someone was already looking sharply at me.

“Does young Master Darlington return your feelings?” Bronn asked. My cousin sighed unhappily.

“He does”, he said ruefully. “But no family wants a discharged major, least of all someone as high up as Lord Darlington.”

“He might be persuaded”, Bronn said, turning to me. “I believe that the living over at Two Dales will be coming vacant soon, beloved?”

I did not frown, because I knew that he Would Not Like It and my body had still not forgiven for the last time that had happened. Two Dales was one of the two best livings on the estate and could be sold for a good price when the current incumbent retired at the start of next year.

“If you gave it to Edwy here”, he went on, “I would be _very_ grateful.”

I suddenly had difficulty breathing.

“It'syoursEdwy”, I said not at all quickly. “Reverend Jones is leaving after Twelfth Night, so you can move in then.”

“In the meantime”, Bronn said rising to his feet, “I shall express my gratitude for such a _giving_ alpha!”

I wondered if I would live to see my cousin take on his new post!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**December 1818**

Considering my initial reacting to meeting the fellow (and leaving aside those ghastly moments when I thought that he had married my beloved!), I had become good friends with Harry Blackwater-Strickland. So much that I had long ago told him Lannister House was at his disposal any time he was in the capital. 

I had two letters that day, the first a note of thanks from Edwy for my help in his suit towards young Christian Darlington (seriously I had been so wrecked that I had found holding the heavy letter difficult and Carlton had had to bring me a strong coffee). The second letter however had some less welcome news, at least to start with.

I wisely waited until Bronn had had his first few cups of coffee before telling him.

“There is news from Bristol”, I said gravely. “It is rather… embarrassing.”

“We do not know anyone in Bristol”, he said, furrowing his brow.

“Apparently the local officials were called to a brothel”, I said gently, “where they found an alpha who had just died in one of the beds. He over-exerted himself during the act, a rare true case of _la morte d'amour_. It was one Lord Robert Barras.”

He sighed. We both knew of the old gentlemen's proclivities which had seemingly worsened following the death of his elder son Geoffrey in a duel two years back. That the younger Barras had behaved dishonourably up till his end, turning and firing early at his opponent, had not surprised me one little bit.

“I suppose that means Gendry will inherit Lucas Lodge”, he observed.

I nodded.

“This happened last week”, I said, “and the letter comes from Harry at our house in London. He is quitting Kent to join his mate in Hertfordshire, which means they are a little nearer for you.”

“Lady Alcyone will be Most Displeased”, my mate observed shrewdly. “I know she rather liked the two of them, as much as she is capable of liking anybody. I wonder who she will get as a replacement.”

That was a bit unfair, I thought. My great-aunt had finally come round to accept her grand-daughter's choice of husband Tom, particularly after having first two betas they had named their first daughter born earlier this year after her.

“That makes me think that Harry may have foreseen this”, I said, “because someone is already lined up. A distant relative of my great-aunt's late husband, he is an omega from Hampshire called Mr. Casper Smith.”

“An unusual name”, Bronn said. “He must be something if Lady Alcyone is prepared to accept a mere omega!”

I smiled.

“His mother is American”, he read, “which I suppose is difficult with the recent war between us. I must say that I am disappointed with our former subjects over the Great Water; wanting freedom from us one minute then helping a dictator the next.”

“I can but wish the man well anyway”, Bronn smiled. “Especially going to work for Lady Alcyone, blood or no blood. He will deserve a recommendation for sainthood if he survives unscathed!”

He really was terrible, especially when he knew he was right!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: From the French_ troquer _meaning to swap or trade, this was a system whereby greedy employers increased their profits by replacing a part of their employees' income with truck tokens. These could only be spent at shops owned by the employer where – here comes the incredibly hard to believe part – prices were sky-high! The system was weakened under the 1831 Truck Act but persisted in some areas into the 20th century before dying a long overdue death. It is remembered also in the famous American song_ Sixteen Tons' _where the singer bemoans the fact that 'I owe my soul to the company store'._


	11. In Harness

**January 1819**

Bronn had gone into an unsuppressed heat just after New Year, which had meant a miserable start to the year for us both. I was kept busy running an estate that was still having to cope with poor harvests and high grain prices, and the attitudes of some of my fellow landowners towards the people under them often left me wanting to hit them. And then I had to come home and keep clear of my mate, despite knowing that I wanted him and he wanted me. It was sheer purgatory!

We had evolved a system over the years whereby Bronn had what he called the Heat Suite, a set of rooms at the back of the West Wing accessed only down a single corridor except for a fire-exit that I had had put in. During heats I slept in the small bedroom at the top end of the corridor, which also functioned as a temporary study. I did not like to leave the house at these times, even though I knew that there was no real threat to my beloved and that the staff were trained that when bringing food the kept to set times and would always alert me so I could watch them place it outside Bronn's room and then make sure that they left.

Which was why, on the third day of this particular heat, I was more than a little alarmed to detect a strange alpha scent from the corridor outside. Moving silently to the door, I opened it and looked out.

A scruffy-looking and unknown alpha in his thirties was some little way down the corridor, moving purposefully towards my mate’s room. Even with the scented plants I had had placed along the corridor, it still reeked of omega in heat. The rogue was clearly intent on following the scent to its source, so much so that he did not even hear me slowly push the door wider.

I fairly flew down the corridor and caught the intruder unawares, hurling him against the wall by Bronn's door. He yelped in fear but he was shorter and less muscular than me, and I might well have finished him off had my beloved not come to the door to see what all the commotion was. He was naturally worried and retreated behind his door before locking it, which enabled me to drag the intruder away.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The strange alpha turned out to be a brother of Wolstenholme, one of our footmen, who had brought a letter from their mother. Someone must have mentioned to him that the laird of the house was in heat and the fool had decided to try his luck, presumably without telling anyone who would otherwise have warned him that there was a fiercely protective alpha quite prepared to throttle the living daylights out of him first and ask questions later.

Poor Wolstenholme was horrified at his brother’s actions, and I was tempted to sack him anyway for what he had put my beloved through, but I knew full well that my mate Would Not Like It. I settled instead on some stern words of warning, and made sure that a note detailing what had happened was delivered with my beloved's next meal. The answer came back hours later, my mate telling me how proud he was of how well I had handled everything. I may or may not have preened over that.

My eyebrows certainly went up when he finished by suggesting how he might reward me once his heat was over. Lord, was that even possible?

I could not wait to fond out!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

I found out all right! And to think I had been stupid enough to think that not having sex during a heats would in some way lessen our relationship. He really was trying to kill me through sex!

We went to bed the first night after his heat had passed and I fell asleep as soon as I was wrapped around my mate. I woke up some little time later, and realized Bronn had gone somewhere, presumably for a glass of water. I looked at my watch.

Just after midnight.

A sound from the door made me look up and I saw Bronn standing there, outlined in the silvery moonlight, wearing.....

Ye Gods, a studded leather harness!

“You did so well over poor Wolstenholme”, he said with a smile. “And I did promise a reward....”

I actually snarled. He smiled knowingly and walked slowly towards me….

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

Mrs. Peters smiled as handed me her reports for the week. I strongly suspected that the screa.... the manly exclamation of surprise I had evinced in having to reach for it may have been a factor in that smile.

“Is the laird not joining you for luncheon?” she asked with a knowing smile. I blushed.

“He will be down shortly”, I said, knowing that the horny omega was putting away a certain item of clothing that had had a second usage this morning. “He was up quite late last night.”

“We heard!” she smirked.

My staff were terrible at times!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**May 1819**

“This new gas lighting is quite something.”

I looked around the frankly uninspiring mess that was the growing city of Birmingham, wondering if lighting it up was worth it. Better to leave it in the dark, frankly.

We were on our way south to pay a call on our friends Harry and Gendry who had moved into Lucas Lodge back in February, Lady Ophelia choosing to settle in the Old Lodge (actually the gatehouse) as it had plenty of room for her dogs, her most important concern. Harry had agreed to his mate’s request to hold a ball to mark their arrival in and return to the area; there had of course been much ill-natured gossip at Lord Robert's 'method' of demise so Gendry had written to my beloved asking if there were any chance he and I could attend to show support. I had said that I was quite glad to go and Bronn looked at me curiously.

“It is rather unfortunate”, he observed, “that Mother and Robert are away visiting friends in Devonshire.”

“Yes”, I said flatly. “How we shall miss them.”

He shook his head at my totally innocent observation. 

“I shall miss Roderick”, he said. “He, John and their family left for the New World last year, not a journey that I would like to undertake. The roads in this country are bad enough.”

As I have mentioned before Mr. Snow was quite wealthy but I had been able to offer some assistance in their move as my family had connections to a firm of lawyers over in New York.

“It is good that we can support our friends”, I said.

“It is”, he agreed. “And perhaps this summer we can invite Mother and Robert up to Pemberley.”

I looked at him in horror, before I realized that the bastard was only teasing me. Honestly, what did I see in him?

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

That night in a small hotel in the town, he reminded me just why. Which also reminded me; I had to get some better suspension for our carriage. And more supplies of that wonderful cooling unguent.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**August 1819**

I was not happy. But I could hardly say as much,

Bronn had done an interview for the local newspaper in which he had laid into the government for their shameful massacre of innocent civilians in Manchester, in what was already being labelled 'Peterloo'. A troop of yeomanry had fired on and killed some protestors for reform at St. Peter's Fields, and the Liverpool administration had gone and put both feet in the the you-know-what by fully backing the assault. I could expect much ribbing at the hands of my fellow local landowners in that they would claim my mate had me totally whipped.

All right, he did, but I did not like to be reminded of it!

I had a local matter to attend to as well, concerning a problem on the estate. Running it took a lot more work that most people supposed especially as my mate insisted that I care properly for every last worker, and he had once likened it to the endless task of maintaining a garden. An appropriate comparison just now, as unfortunately I had to do some weeding. 

The estate manager at the time was an alpha called Mr. Edward Grinton, a solid man who was dependable rather than brilliant but who did what was needed and generally ran things well. However he had become involved in an inheritance dispute over a large estate up in the Furness district of Lancashire, and I had given him the time off to sort things out, as if all went well he would be set up for life. This had meant the estate management had fallen into the hands of his deputy, a beta called Damien Grieve.

I had long entertained doubts about Mr. Grieve and I was thankful that at times like this the common folks on the estate felt they could approach me. All right, they could approach Bronn who would pass on their concerns to me, always (I had noted) at a time when the chances of me saying no were about the same as me flying to the Moon. Either way it did not make pleasant listening. Mr. Grieve was using his position to make sure that whenever repair jobs were done on houses and business properties, the work was shoddy because he employed the cheapest people available and then submitted false accounts for far more money, pocketing the difference. I had been quietly gathering evidence of his malfeasance, and on the weekly staff payday I struck.

“Mr. Grieve”, I said politely with one hand on my mate's shoulder, “I was out at Lambton Mill yesterday.”

“A good place”, the deputy manager nodded, “though the miller tends towards idleness.”

“Some men do”, I said smoothly. “I also spoke to a local man, one Mr. Phineas Harthwaite.”

The beta’s smile stayed fixed but he began to look decidedly nervous.

“Indeed?” he said.

“Indeed”, I echoed. “He told me of the repair work he did to the mill’s roof recently. Six shillings, fourpence ha’penny’s worth of repairs. Yet I recall seeing the invoice that you submitted, and it was for ten shillings, tuppence and one farthing. I would be interested to hear you explain the difference.”

“As would I”, Bronn smiled, placing his hand over mine. “Well?”

The fellow looked around nervously but everyone in the vicinity was studiously ignoring him.

“You will leave your house by the end of the month”, I said firmly. “It goes without saying that you are no longer employed at Pemberley.”

Mr. Grieve risked a glare at Bronn which earned him a warning growl from me, before slinking out of the room.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**December 1819**

“We have the government response to all that criticism from its opponents”, I said dryly that morning. “They have pretty much made any further criticism illegal.”

The Liverpool administration had just passed what they called the Six Acts, although the newspapers (perhaps more accurately) called them the Gag Acts¹. It was pretty much a case of 'we shall outlaw criticism or make it so difficult that our opponents will just give up'. I did not like it at all and could see that it would lead to trouble.

“They are targeting the newspaper that published my speech against them as one of the first”, Bronn said crossly. “I would wager that they are hoping to force it to close down.”

He looked meaningfully at me. 

“What is it you want me to do?” I sighed. It was no use pretending I was the master of the house; all the servants knew as well as I did who was really in charge.

“I think that you should pay the extra taxes for the newspaper”, Bronn smiled.

That was.... surprisingly reasonable.

“And if you do”, he said, his voice suddenly dropping in a way that had all my blood heading south so fast that my head spun, “I might get out the harness again.”

“Mwah?”

“And this time I might let you wear it!”

Seriously, he really was trying to make sure Martin came into his inheritance sooner rather than later. Well, let him. I was strong, I was alpha, and..... oh no, he was heading for the door _now?_ Lord help me!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

The Lord did not!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: Military training of any sort not ordered by the government was made illegal, magistrates were given the power to enter properties and seize weapons in 'disturbed counties', bail was limited and court procedures accelerated, all meetings of over fifty people were banned, slander and libel could now be punished by transportation, and the taxes on newspapers were hiked up. Most of these measures were withdrawn over the next two decades although the prohibition on military training was not repealed until 2008._


	12. Government And Great-Aunts

**January 1820**

The year began with a long expected piece of news, to wit that the mad king had finally died. The new reign of what some utterly disrespectful omega called Fatty-Four was nearly a short one as the bloated former Regent was ill when he received news of his elevation, causing his brother Duke Frederick to rush to his bedside (again as some utterly disrespectful omega said, more likely in anticipation than any brotherly concern). But the bloated former Regent recovered, although that was not the end of his problems.

Bronn's father had been ill over Christmas and, despite the still copious verbiage that Mrs. Blackwater kept making me pay for, she had somehow neglected to include the fact that her husband was dying. It came as a shock to my mate when the news reached us in the middle of the month, and worse, a heavy snowfall had blocked all the roads and would clearly prevent us from attending the funeral.

The death of Mr. Blackwater meant of course that Harry and Gendry inherited Longbourn, although as they were now living happily in Lucas Lodge they very graciously allowed Bronn's mother to remain there for as long as she wished (a suggestion from some horrible omega that I arrange for his relatives to move to Derbyshire was met with a response icier than the front drive!). Once the snow had cleared however the two of us were compelled to go south, although I was spared some of the ordeal as my mate allowed me to go and complete my business in London. And all I had to do was ask my omega nicely.....

Yes, I was totally and utterly whipped. Sigh.

I had planned to spend only five days in the capital, but a combination of a blizzard and some impenetrable fog meant that I was delayed. Plus I also had an unexpected (and unwelcome) visitor to Lannister House, namely my fearsome great-aunt. She was as erect and proud as ever, and quite clearly annoyed at the Good Lord for his forcing her to abandon her attempt to reach her Kentish home after her own trip to the capital. Even more unluckily she had sold her old house in the capital and had not yet chosen a new one –incredible; my great-aunt being fussy! - so I had to put her up. It was three days into the New Year that the fog began to lift and we could both depart, upon which she thanked me with a surprising degree of civility for his hospitality. She did not of course mention a certain omega who I had missed even more than I had expected.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**March 1820**

“All I am saying is that it seems rather too timely.”

I sighed. It was an irksome facet of my mate's character that he so often thought the worst of people, which was as irritating as the other facet, a smugness that went right off the scale when he was occasionally (very often) proven correct.

“You think that the government set these men up?” I asked dubiously. 

“They know how unpopular the Gag Acts were”, Bronn said shortly. “And a general election¹ taking place which they might lose? This will scare some reformists away and see Liverpool safely home, you will see. Not everywhere is as set up as Derbyshire² after all.”

A plot³ had been uncovered to murder the prime minister and his Cabinet, but the authorities had had an informant in the gang from the start and it had quickly been exposed. My mate may well have been correct in his assessment, but his smugness at my mild annoyance told me that already.

“Well, we may have a more immediate problem that government incompetence of skulduggery”, I said. “Kersey wishes to visit again.”

He sighed in that put-upon way of his.

“I _said_ Pemberley would have been better with a moat! Especially one with crocodiles in it!”

I just shook my head at him. The wretched woman may have been family and I was therefore morally obliged to show some caring in her direction, but I had rapidly grown tired of the excerpts describing her latest antics which some cruel omega mate kept ringing in my breakfast newspaper. Presumably the men of London all knew her well enough by now to stay clear so she was trying her luck in the Midlands.

“She says that she cannot come immediately as she has struck up a friendship with.... Lord help us, the Princess of Wales!”

My mate looked up in surprise. The new king and his wife had been estranged for over two decades now, and the race was still on between his younger brothers to father an heir with the current leader being the unlucky Edward Duke of Kent who had fathered Princess Victoria – unlucky because he had died earlier in the year after having had to take a cottage by the sea in Devonshire to escape his debts, and had caught pneumonia after going sea-bathing in winter. Daft fellow!

“Public opinion is very much on the Princess' side just now”, Bronn said, “and the coronation will surely not take place until next year given all the organization needed. Hopefully your cousin will be too busy to visit until then.”

“She wants me to invite her here, and then to come to London and express my support for the Princess”, I said. “I will not have her here after all she did, but should I go to her?”

“It might be unwise”, he said. “There are rumours – nothing more, but a lot of them – that the Princess has had rather too many gentleman friends of late, which given that she is still technically married is... unwise. I would hold back for now, beloved.”

I smiled at him.

“Although”, he went on (and how he managed to drop his voice so much for one word the Lord alone knew) “perhaps we should adjourn to our room where you can practice _not_ holding back?”

I let out a high-pitched cough. It was not a whimper, whatever anyone smirked.... I meant said.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**June 1820**

My beloved was, as ever, soon proven right, although after our adjournment I was not in much of a state to care either way for some considerable time. The government, having alienated the people over their crackdown on reform, decided to alienate them still further by trying to push a bill through parliament debarring the Princess from becoming Queen. The public reaction was even fiercer, so I was not surprised to read what I did in the newspaper that fine early summer's day.

“Liverpool has abandoned his attempt to debar the Princess from becoming Queen”, I observed.

I fully expected him to smirk at having been proven right (yes, again!) but to my surprise he did not.

“There are other ways of stopping her”, he said instead.

I looked at him in surprise.

“Such as?” I asked.

“Despite their atrocious behaviour, the government has some friends in the newspaper industry”, he said. “We can expect to see a full-on attempt to besmirch the woman's character over the coming months, and with the coronation date set for the best part of a year away there is plenty of time for the public mood to change. Or to be changed.”

“Our papa always thinks the worst of people”, Martin said. Bronn insisted on family meals together, something which was far from the norm amongst rich families at that time. It was I supposed a good thing except several of our children were already developing the patented Bronn Smirk™ as to how whi..... considerate their father was to his mate.

“Our papa is likely right again”, Broyn grinned. “He usually is, even if Father pouts every time.”

I scowled as the two of them chuckled at each other. I did _not_ pout! It was a manly scowl and that had better damn well not be a smirk from some mate of mine or I would pou..... probably not be best pleased!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**September 1820**

“No!”

Several of our children jumped at my mate's sudden loudness. I made a mental note to get the windows fixed; this room really was far too cold.

“I was not minded to accept”, I said carefully, although in truth I had been considering it until my beloved's sudden outburst. “Having Kersey bring the Princess here would make all the newspapers and doubtless divide opinion amongst my fellow landowners.”

“She has taken up with that villain Mr. Peter Bayliss”, Bronn said coldly. “The one who states that omegas should return to being barefoot, bred and collared, ready to be wheeled out at their alpha's whims.”

That was where I made a very slight and completely forgivable error of judgement. I hesitated, and my mate's eyes narrowed. I noticed Martin crossing himself and gulped. Broyn was actually praying!

“Not of course that any alpha with sense could countenance such an idea in this day and age!” I said not at all quickly.

Lord help me, he was giving me the Look! 

“I wonder if Father has drawn up his will?” Broyn mused.

Damn sassy omegas!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**October 1820**

One of the things I liked about having Arthur as a friend was that the fellow was so easy-going. In earlier years this had as I have observed before rendered him likely to imagine himself in love with all sorts of females and omegas, many of whom were more interested in his fortune than his person, but fortunately he had had a marginally older friend to keep him out of trouble.

I caught my mate looking pointedly at me across the sitting-room at Lynton, and blushed. I was far too transparent where he was concerned.

Arthur and I had met after we had discovered that our mutual cousin had been angling to visit us both with her royal companion. After some discussion Bronn had le.... we had decided that Arthur might offer a visit from Kersey alone, which would place her in the socially difficult position that everyone would see her pointedly not having been invited to Pemberley itself. There was I supposed the danger that she might come anyway but I doubted that; she was too much of a snob to risk the social disgrace that the London newspapers would heap on her and her patroness. Besides, Arthur was an excellent shot.

“The dratted woman has disgraced this family”, I said angrily. “Her alliance with Mr. Bayliss of all people is unforgivable.”

“Or so he has been told by his mate!” muttered Edmund. I would have glared at him but Bronn would have been Displeased, and I had a lot of riding to do around the estate.

“She will likely be finding some way of abandoning her ties to the Princess”, Arthur said. “The newspapers are full of her scandalous behaviour of late.”

“Yes”, Bronn said airily. “Funny, that.”

He really could be smug for England at times!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**January 1821**

A new year and one where the government had announced that there would be a census, the first in two decades after the one ten years back had been abandoned because of the war with France. So loathed had the Liverpool administration become at this time that I doubted the information gathered would be either accurate and/or useful, but that was seemingly the way of the world.

We also had a small domestic matter, arising out of the visit over the festive season of our friends Harry and Gendry with their family. It had been an enjoyable time and I had not even been aware of this incident until Bronn had first told me about it, and second told me what we were going to do. 

Do not even say it.

The day after our visitors left, Bronn summonsed Martin to my study. The boy, now some eleven years old, was very much the image of the young me though nothing like as handsome and..... I just _knew_ that some annoying omega's mind-reading abilities were working far too well again! Harrumph!

“Broyn mentioned that you and young Henry did not seem to get on very well”, my mate said conversationally.

Martin blushed and looked at the floor.

“He was far too full of himself for an......”

He stopped himself just in time. Bronn was giving him the sort of look which would have had a herd of stampeding rhinoceroses pulling up sharply.

“For a what, son?” my mate asked kindly.

“Er, for a....... young boy”, Martin finished lamely.

Bronn continued to look sharply at our son. See? I was not the only member of the family who was totally..... totally considerate of the feelings of others.

“You may go, son”, Bronn smiled, giving me an annoyingly knowing look. “But one more thing.”

“Yes, papa?”

“No picking on your younger brother”, Bronn said firmly. “It was not his fault that 'a mere omega' got the better of you.”

The boy blushed even more fiercely, and fled from the room.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

”He started it by teasing Henry”, Bronn explained, “so he deserved it. Some alphas really do underestimate omegas.”

“I would never do that”, I said firmly.

“I know”, he smiled.

I smiled back, before I realized just what sort of smile I was getting. Lord have mercy!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: General elections had to take place at least every seven years, although prime ministers tended to go to the country sooner rather than risk being caught out by some upset close to the end of their term of office. The last election had been two years prior in 1818 at which the Whigs (reformists) had lost although they had done better than expected, but an election also had to be called every time the monarch died. This rule died out during the long reign of Queen Victoria (1837-1901) with its many voting reforms._  
 _2: Even for its mostly rural population Derbyshire was under-represented in the Unreformed House of Commons with 4 seats, 2 for Derby and 2 for the rest of the county. Contrast this with the less populous county of Cornwall which had an incredible 44 members (for comparison purposes, at the 2017 U.K. general election Derbyshire had 9 seats and Cornwall 6). Derbyshire's county seats were rarely contested because, as was often the case elsewhere, the great families agreed to put up one Whig and one Tory candidate to share them._  
 _3: The Cato Street Conspiracy. Five men were publicly executed (the last such in England) and five more transported to Australia. Perhaps if governments behaved more honourably people might not always think the worst of them. Perhaps pigs might fly..._


	13. Showdown!

**March 1821**

After a run of poor harvests, the estate finally seemed to be getting back to normal. Which was more than could have been said of my private life.

My son Palamedes looked at me inquiringly as I read the latest whining session from my cousin.

“Another letter from Miss Lannister, Father?” he asked politely.

I was surprised. There was no way he could have seen the dratted thing.

“Yes”, I sighed. “She asks that we call in on her 'next time we are in London'. How did you know it was from her, Pal?”

“You do that clenching thing with your hand every time she writes”, the boy said shrewdly. “Besides, papa mentioned that the Wicked Witch had written – again! - when he glanced at the mail this morning.”

I felt that a seven-year-old omega, even one who bore a strong resemblance to his handsome alpha father, should not be calling his distant cousin such a name. Deserved though it undoubtedly was.

“Will you be going to the coronation, Father?” he asked.

I smiled.

“What you mean is, will we be taking you with us?”

He looked at me with what was most definitely his papa's innocent expression. I felt my eyes begin to water, and I cursed silently. It was unfair enough to have one omega in the house doing that, let alone three!

“Possibly”, I said. “Your papa likes that sort of thing.”

“I was passing your room earlier”, Martin muttered from across the table. “We all know the sort of thing papa likes!”

I blushed fiercely.

“What is that?” Palamedes asked at once.

“I was celebrating Papa's birthday with him”, I said quickly.

“He was giving him something”, Broyn muttered unhelpfully. I glared at him.

“What?” Palamedes asked.

“You are too young to be told”, Martin said primly. “Ouch!”

I should probably have reproved my younger omega son for that bread roll, but my eldest had in truth deserved it.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

“I would like to go”, Bronn said when I discussed it with him later, “but there is of course your cousin to consider. She is bound to uncover our arrival and try to foist herself upon us. And if I see that Mr. Bayliss anywhere in my vicinity then I shall be using my revolver!”

I was still trying to recover my breath. My mate had arranged for all our children to go and visit one of the estate's outlying farms, which I had thought nice – until I found out what he had planned for their absence! And I had to wear the lace panties for the rest of the day!

I admit it, I was whipped. Oh well. I summonsed what was left of my wits for a response.

“I shall write in response to this letter”, I promised him (damnation, even speaking hurt!), “and warn her that any attempt to visit Lannister House while we are there will lead to her being forcibly evicted. And to the newspapers being alerted to that fact.”

“She would not dare risk embarrassing her new friend like that”, he smiled, “especially given all the damage these stories that have mysteriously appeared in the newspapers have done to her patroness.”

I would have frowned at his sass, but that would have taken entirely too many muscles. He had as ever been right about the government; ever since their failure to debar Princess Caroline from becoming Queen, the newspapers had suddenly been full of stories about her many 'gentlemen' visitors and her habit of rapidly putting on and losing weight over recent years which may or may not have been related to all the 'orphan' children she sponsored. The public mood was indeed turning against the woman, much as some wiseacre of an omega had foretold.

The smugness was still annoying, though.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**May 1821**

“Did they send the wrong newspaper this morning?”

My beloved looked up inquiringly at me, then smiled in a way that should have been banned with children at the table. I was sure that both Martin and Broyn were rolling their eyes.

“No”, he said. “This is a new newspaper being printed in the North, the _'Manchester Guardian'¹_. They are sending it free this week to see if we like it.”

“Do we?”

Several of our children snorted at my wording. I glared around and they all pointedly ignored me, but I knew that they were smirking inside.

 _”We_ do not”, Bronn said with a grin. “Very full of itself, I am afraid.”

And the bastard actually ran his tongue around his lips as he looked at me. I had a birthday coming up in July, and I really wanted to live to see it!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**June 1821**

The coronation was set for the nineteenth of the following month, a week before..... an event in my own life that I was stupidly not looking forward to. At least not until, on the moment of departure from Pemberley, some teasing omega mate showed me the set of coloured pieces of cloth he had purchased which were apparently called 'thongs', and explained that I would be wearing the red, white and blue one to the coronation. And before I could object (or recover), he had whispered what he would do to me as a reward on my birthday soon after.

Yet again I really worried about that life-insurance policy I had taken out.

We arrived in the capital on the last day of the month, nearly three weeks before the coronation, and settled quickly into Lannister House. The only downside was that Arthur and Edmund had been unable to join us because.... well, save to say that the marking of my friend's thirty-fifth birthday had broken both his leg and their bed.

Look, I was not _that_ envious. Although that was mainly because I suspected or feared that what my mate had lined up for me might end up with me and our bed in similar states!

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

**July 1821**

We had several pleasant days out in the capital over the following weeks, although I frankly did not see what my mate found so exciting about paintings. He especially enthused over Mr. Constable's latest work, which was basically a cart stuck in a stream². An action picture it was not.

Finally however we reached the great day of the coronation itself. I had been sent tickets as a major landowner but on my mate's 'advice' had gifted them to a reformist member of the House of Lords who had not been invited. Besides, the procession from the Abbey through the city would pass Lannister House and we had an excellent balcony. 

“Sometimes I wonder about our newspapers”, Bronn sighed. “The King has not even left the Abbey yet they have the news out.”

“What news?” I asked.

“His wife turned up in all her finery but was refused admittance to the place”, he smiled. “The new king even took the precaution of employing prize fighters as pages to keep her out, and ordered the band to play louder when she hammered on the door throughout the service. He is crowned now, and she has failed. But that is not all.”

I looked at him inquiringly.

“What else could have gone wrong?” I asked.

“One of her supporters did manage to gain admittance and tried to persuade the people inside to open the doors to her”, he said. “She and her guest were forcibly thrown out through a side-entrance. A Miss Kersey Lannister and Mr. Peter Bayliss.”

I winced at that. Kersey was all about pride and appearances (yes, as someone else once had been and I did not need a smirking omega to remind me of that fact thank you very much!), and this would be a grievous humiliation for her.

Oh well.

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

It was one week after the coronation, and several small personages were all glaring at me as we prepared to alight our carriages for the journey back to my beloved Pemberley. It would be three days and I really hoped that I lived to see it.

The repercussions from the coronation had been more than I could have feared or, perhaps, hoped for. Kersey had been so humiliated by her appearing in all the newspapers that she and Mr. Bayliss had decamped for France from where, I fervently hoped, I would never hear from either of them for the rest of my life. That and the fact I had survived coronation week wearing a different thong each day – those things really rode up, let me tell you! - and I felt fine.

In my abject and utter stupidity I had forgotten about my birthday. And last night, Bronn had taken me to a small hotel where..... the saints be praised, he was still that flexible and I was still that lucky. And praise the Lord, he had brought two large jars of cooling unguent.

I had however forgotten that the roads of England, even the turnpiked ones, were still not that smooth......

۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩۩

_Notes:_  
 _1: Now just_ 'The Guardian' _, also called The Grauniad for its frequent spelling mistakes. Think MSNBC but with added self-righteousness. And yes, that is possible._  
 _2: Originally entitled _'Landscape: Noon'_ but much more famous by its later title _'The Hay Wain' _, set on the River Stour between Suffolk and Essex. It actually failed to find a buyer at this exhibition in London and only later acquired its fame after being exhibited and well-received over in France._


End file.
